


Human Kind

by A_Fool_in_Love



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Artificial Intelligence, Behavior Conditioning, Child Connor, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Deviating Slowly, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Poor Connor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump, Worried Hank Anderson, kid!Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fool_in_Love/pseuds/A_Fool_in_Love
Summary: It's the usual premise of Hank investigating the scene of a crime and finding Connor who's a child and possibly the only witness. Hank will be Hank, struggling with his grief and being a semi-functional alcoholic working homicide. Connor will finally see a world outside of his white room and Amanda's garden.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo
Comments: 179
Kudos: 434





	1. In the Garden

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those guilty-pleasure fics that I just need to write because I ran out of content to read. TheBrightSilverLining, I'm definitely working on your fic request! I just have to get this out of my system!

“Jesus,” Hank drew the oath out while he turned his head from side to side to examine the scene. “What the hell’ve we got here?” The house they were in was probably more like a mansion. Not one of those old-fashioned, hundred-year-old places made of wood and stone and warm colours; it was a modern sort of expensive where even though everything was plain black, white, or grey, even the paint had probably been worth than a whole city block. He’d seen some shit in his time on the force. When he got called out to a scene in some piss-poor neighbourhood where nobody had a chance and they knew it, he always felt some sort of pity. God knew the States had gone to shit. Poor bastards weren’t born with silver spoons in their mouths or healthy homes. Living day to day without knowing if you’d eat or have a job the next day or get shot on your way home took its toll. There were some fucked up people out there, but it was pretty damn hard to get Hank to lose the last of his sympathy for a guy.

Maybe he was a prejudiced bastard, but people who lived in places like this… What the fuck was wrong with them? They had stability, jobs, sometimes families, safe neighbourhoods with fucking fences and schools where you didn’t generally see security guards that looked like they belonged in prisons. They had enough money to get out of the city if they wanted. It was a hell of a lot harder to feel sympathetic when it seemed like these assholes took everything they had for granted and then went looking for something to be wrong.

“The usual,” Ben said with a sniff a grimace. He started to lead Hank through the scene and Hank raked his eyes over the two corpses in the foyer. They were dressed like fucking spies out of some old movie with suits on and Kevlar vests that hadn’t done shit to stop them getting shot right between the damn eyes. Whoever’d taken them out had been good. “Looks like a break-in or something, if you ask me.”

“Yeah? So why’d you drag me out here at 1 in the damn morning, huh?” He was a little bitter about that. “It’s not like the bodies couldn’t have waited until morning.”

“C’mon, Hank. It’s not like you were sleeping anyway. Everybody knows you’re the guy keeping Jimmy’s in business.” Ben chuckled. Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up… Whatever, though.

“Just supporting local business,” Hank joked dryly. “Half the donut shops in Detroit’d be gone without you.”

“Yeah, they send me little thank-you cards,” Ben said, just as dryly. One good thing about becoming a cop was that it gave you a damn thick skin and a slightly warped sense of humour. If you couldn’t handle somebody giving you hell over being fat, or an alcoholic, or blowing your nose too loud, or something, then you wouldn’t last long at the DPD. They went up the stairs and found another guy dead in the hallway. Little yellow evidence markers tagged the blood splatter.

“Hey, man,” Chris greeted. He was standing with his arms crossed while two guys tried to force open a door.

“What, nobody knows how to use a key?” Hank asked.

Chris shook his head. “They got physical locks. No electronics, so the universal ones won’t cut it.”

“I reiterate…” Hank grumbled, but didn’t bother to actually repeat himself. “You think our suspect’s in there?” Fuck, the banging on the door went right through his skull.

“Tim thought he heard something,” Chris explained. “We’re thinking it might be an attempted robbery gone wrong.”

Perps break in, kill the security guards, try to make off with the shit but get spooked… “Doubt it. These stiffs gotta be a few days old and the way the bodies fell, it looks like maybe they were heading this way when they got shot. We’ll see if we can ID the poor bastards and check the missing persons’ reports… These guys didn’t have a security system? Cameras? Alarms?”

“If they did, they didn’t do a hell of a lot of good,” Ben said.

Hank looked around the hall. “So, we got three dead guys but we don’t know if they belonged here or not. Any idea who this place belongs to?”

“Not yet,” Chris denied.

Jeez. Leave it all to the detective. “Right… You guys clear the rest of the house?”

“Almost done,” said Chris. “You want to take a look around while we work on this door?”

“Not like I have anything better to do…” The floor was all grey, polished concrete like the foyer had been, and the walls were white. The light came from bulbs recessed into the ceiling. It made the whole place feel more like a lab than a home, but he found two bedrooms. The first was probably the master bedroom. The floor in there looked like fucking marble and the walls were grey in a reversal of the hall. The pale wooden dresser and closet doors didn’t do much to liven the place up. Hank gloved up and rifled through the drawers and closet. A bunch of dresses and shit, but no guys’ clothes to be seen. Judging by how fucking clean everything was, the fact that the white duvet and sheets were rumpled probably meant whoever’d slept there had been interrupted either during the night, or before the help could come clean shit up. Seemed like the place that’d have an android or two, but there was no sign of any plastics hanging around.

There was an office, and it had some honest to god physical books in shelves built into the walls right up to the ceiling. Hell of a lot of psychology stuff, but there was jack shit in the way of personal correspondence or bills lying around. They’d have to get somebody to get into the terminal and access the files there.

The next room he came to after the office made him stop and frown. The whole place was white: floor, walls, and ceiling. The first obvious camera he saw was in the corner of the room and he made a note to look for more. There was a bed with white and grey sheets, and it was small enough for a kid but who the hell decorated a kid’s room like this? Still, there was a tiny desk with a tablet on it and there were tiny clothes in the closet. Fuck.

Hank made his way back to the others. “Hey, did anybody hear anything about a kid? Looks like a kids’ room back there with nobody in it. Ben, send somebody to the neighbours to ask around, would you? I don’t give a shit how late it is.”

“You’ve got it, boss,” Ben agreed, already swiping on his tablet. Hank examined the efforts to get into the locked room. They’d busted out the tools and were getting the hinges off the door. New place like this with old fashioned locks. Maybe they were worried about hackers?

“Hah! Got it!” Grunted one of the guys. Name was Aman or something. Hank took his revolver out.

“This is the Detroit Police!” Chris shouted. He had his own gun out and he somehow kept it steady through his shock as they walked into a fucking greenhouse. There were a few steps down, but then the ground was covered in grass and weird, white, stone walkways. Hank could hear fucking water flowing somewhere. Curious, he reached out and touched the leaves of a tree a few feet in. It was real.

“Jesus Christ, we’ve found Wonderland,” Hank said. “What the shit?”

Mixed in with the real trees were a few fake ones, with shiny metal diamonds instead of leaves and they didn’t look as out of place as they should in the fucking surreal garden. Cherry blossoms and plum blossoms flanked the path Hank chose and it took him around past a few statues and… were those grave stones? Hank kept walking. The place must have taken up the whole damn middle of the house like some indoor courtyard. When he looked up, it was hard to tell for certain but he didn’t think the sky he saw up there was the night sky through some windows. A projection or something?

“Man, rich folks do some crazy stuff,” Chris commented. They still had their weapons ready and their eyes focused while they cleared the area.

“Starting to think this is all a dream, or somebody slipped something in my whiskey,” Hank remarked. The path turned into a bridge over a little artificial river and what Hank saw when he looked ahead made him curse. “Shit, is that the kid?” There was somebody on that circular island. If they hadn’t moved, he might have assumed it was another statue.

“Oh damn,” Chris whispered.

“Kid, this is the police!” Hank called, taking the lead. “We’re not here to hurt anybody. We just want to help.” They stepped off of the bridge, and Hank crept closer toward the rose trellis where he could see the little bits of movement through the leaves. He took another step closer, and with no warning at all, the kid sprang out from behind his cover and faced them. Hank stared at the gun in the boy’s tiny hands and the barely hidden fear in his brown eyes. “Kid,” Hank said, more slowly and gently. He pitched his voice low and bent down just a little with his hands held wide. Chris was smart enough not to go any closer. “You’re okay. I don’t want to hurt you...”

The kid didn’t say anything, but his eyes flickered over to Chris before settling back on Hank. He was wearing a little suit with jeans that were wrinkled like he’d been wearing them for a while.

“My name’s Hank,” he said. “Is this your house?”

His eyes looked between the two cops again and the kid nodded once without lowering his weapon. He had a pretty steady hand, Hank would give him that.

“This is Chris. He’s a police officer too. We came here because we got a report that something bad might have happened… What’s your name?”

That looked like it confused the kid a little. “My name is Connor…” He said reluctantly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” It might have been funny how fucking ridiculous that was if the situation wasn’t so fucking horrible.

“Connor, think you can put that gun down for me? We’ll put ours away too, see?” Moving very slowly, Hank moved his hand so that he could holster his gun. Chris followed his lead and the kid frowned while he watched them and finally lowered the gun and set it down on the ground. Without the gun, he looked a lot more afraid and Hank could look at him without focusing on not getting shot. He crouched down to get on the kid’s level. Fuck he was small. He couldn’t have been more than five. Kids that age got right to his heart. Christ. At least he hadn’t been one of the victims. “Good. That’s good. Thanks… Are you hurt anywhere?”

Connor shook his head. “No.”

“Okay… I’m glad to hear that, Connor. Is there anybody here with you? Or anybody home in the house at all?”

Connor moved to put his back to the roses, and aside from his eyes he didn’t look like a kid you might find at a murder scene. His posture was perfect, and he wasn’t crying or trying to hide or run.

“I don’t know,” Connor answered quietly and looked around the garden. “I don’t know.”

“Do you know where your parents are?” Hank probed.

“I… No… I don’t understand.” Connor shook his head and frowned at them.

“Do you know where your mom and dad are?” Hank rephrased.

“I don’t have those,” the little frown deepened. “I live with Amanda.”

“You live here with Amanda?” Hank paraphrased back at the kid.

“Yes,” Connor confirmed, then he blinked a few times and Hank saw his eyes roll back briefly while he tipped over. Reflexes Hank hadn’t used in a long time kicked in and he lunged to catch him around the ribs before he could hit the ground. The kid’s head lolled for a sec, then he came to again and tried to stand up. Hank could feel the rapid in and out of his breath.

“Easy,” Hank murmured. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you.” The kid was pale as a ghost, and Hank lowered him down to sit on the ground. In the back of his mind he could feel his asshole mind tugging at itself and making his own heart race, but he shoved the simmering feelings away and concentrated on the kid in front of him.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere?” Hank asked. He looked the kid over for injuries, but there was nothing obvious.

“Nn,” Connor made a little sound as a reply and he kept blinking like it might keep his eyes open. His head dropped back against the roses. “I’m okay,” he said. It was weirding Hank out a little how the kid seemed to be holding himself together like his life depended on it.

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” Hank assured him, feeling more than a prickle of worry. “Do you know where Amanda is, Connor?”

Connor was trembling while he did it, but he forced himself to sit straight with his head up. “I don’t know where she is,” he answered. “She told me to stay here.”

Oh, fuck. “How long have you been in here?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, and he tipped again prompting Hank to put his hands on his arms. The kid didn’t seem to mind it. “Three days? No, four… I'm sorry. I’m trying.”

“Jesus,” Hank had been hoping he wouldn’t say that. “Chris, let’s get him out of here. Connor, I’m going to pick you up now, okay?” Connor didn’t say anything, so Hank hoisted him up and held him propped against his chest. The kid didn’t even move, so Hank adjusted his grip and moved one of the kids’ arms around his neck. After a little while of making their way back out of that weirdass room, Hank felt Connor lift up his other arm to hold on and drop his head against Hank’s shoulder. Gentle as the action was, it knocked Hank’s breath right out of him. He wasn’t drunk enough for this.


	2. In the break room

Connor must have slept while it was removed from the garden, and it woke up feeling groggy and slow. It was no excuse for disrespectful behaviour, though, so it tried its best to wake up when it felt cold air seeping through its clothes and the soft rhythm of the officer’s steps. It wasn’t certain where it was being taken, but it didn’t really matter if it knew or not. First they were in a big room with the highest ceiling it had ever seen and more rooms stacked together in groups and piled up higher than the trees. It let itself be taken into a room with bright lights and voices that it had never seen before, and it wondered if Amanda had allowed them to be there. She must have, or else they wouldn’t be there. This part of the house must have been a secret. It had done as it had been told, and perhaps this was part of a test. It tried to pay attention to every little detail.

“You’re awake, huh?” The Officer asked. He tipped Connor back and held it away from him to look. “You gonna be fine if I put you down?”

“Yes,” Connor answered and felt certain that it had been the correct answer. It was rewarded with a smile that surprised it. It hadn’t done anything remarkable, but it was good that it had been right. It wouldn’t like to fail so soon. It was lowered down to the ground and it looked up at the Officer. He was tall. Taller than Connor had known a person could be. “Thank you…”

“Yeah,” said the Officer with an expression that Connor didn’t know. He held out a hand and Connor waited until the Officer sighed and took Connor’s hand in his own, then led it toward a chair. He helped Connor to climb up onto it to sit and then placed a cup of water and a plate of something in front of it. “You wait here, got it? I’ll be right back.”

It looked at the plate and cup then nodded. “I understand.”

“Good,” said the Officer with that same strange expression. Once he left, Connor looked at the plate and cup again and pressed its teeth together.

\---

It barely took him 10 minutes to update Jeff and get his ass back to the break room, but it felt like he’d gotten a couple of decades older and a hell of a lot more tired somewhere in that time. God. He was going to get so fucking drunk when he got home. This was what he got for answering his damn phone in the middle of the damn apocalypse. Of all the shit, he’d just had to find a fucking kid. Jesus. That anxiety and blackness he’d felt like a rising tide since he’d walked into that damn room was right fucking there. It was a bitch being afraid of yourself. He didn’t want to get that bad. He didn’t want to get so lost in his own shitty thoughts that he sucked off his pistol, but that part of him just wanted to say fuck it. He was allowed to be miserable, wasn’t he? Life wasn’t fucking fair.

He walked into the break room and tried to keep his mental distance when he looked at the little boy sitting there with the little waves in his hair and shit, was he crying? Fuck.

“Hey,” Hank said quietly, distance be damned. He put his hand on the back of the kid’s chair and tried to look at his face. Kid hadn’t even touched the donut in front of him. “What’s the matter, kid, are you scared?”

“I’m okay,” the kid said for what felt like the millionth time. He turned his face away while he rubbed his sleeve over his eyes like he thought it might hide it.

“You look kind of sad there, kiddo,” Hank pointed out.

“I’m okay,” Connor repeated. He looked so fucking dead inside when he finally looked back at Hank. Maybe the poor little guy was feeling shocked with everything that happened. “I’m not sad.”

“Why don’t you eat your donut and drink your water, huh?” Hank prompted. It was good the kid wasn’t hungry. If he’d been stuck in that room for days, at least he’d had something to eat and maybe something that wasn’t weird artificial river water.

The kid was sitting like he had a stick up his tiny ass with tears still dripping down his face and a poker face like nothing he’d ever seen. It was unsettling as fuck, but what he said next was worse: “I don’t need food, Officer.”

“Uh, pretty sure you do, kid. Everybody does. It’s really good. I mean, probably been sitting here all damn day but other than that it’s fine…” Connor looked back down at the plate and Hank saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Hank knew exactly what he could do. Saw it in his mind’s eye: he could get a donut for himself and act like a goof eating it like it was the best damn thing to convince the kid it was safe, or he could go and grab that stuffed dog off of Tina’s desk and get the kid to ‘share’ with it. Fast as he could imagine it, he shut that shit down. It wasn’t his problem. He sat down in the chair opposite and sighed. “Okay, kid. Do you have anybody we can call to come get you? An aunt, or an uncle, or a family friend? Somebody?”

“Amanda,” Connor answered.

Yeah, he kept mentioning Amanda. “Do you know Amanda’s last name, Connor?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me about what happened before she told you to go in the room?”

“I was asleep,” Connor said. “I heard something and I waited, then Amanda got me from my room. It wasn’t morning yet…” Sometimes kids cried or refused to talk or talked so much they didn’t make sense. Shutting down wasn’t unusual either. He wasn’t a shrink, but he’d’ learned enough and seen enough to figure they’d need an expert. It was too bad the whole fucking city was getting turned upside down. Essential services were still doing their thing if they could manage it, and the day Jimmy left his bar would be a cold day in hell, but the whole androids-coming-alive deal had really affected the system. No wonder. People’d gotten so fucking reliant on those pieces of plastic, it was a wonder they even knew how to wipe their own asses.

“Do you know what was making the noises?”

Connor nodded slowly. “The people. They chased us… Amanda gave me a gun. I… I wanted to protect her.”

Jesus. “What did the people look like?”

“Tall…” The kid’s eyelids flickered again and he started listing to the left. Hank grimaced and he leaned over the table to catch him. He stood, picked the kid up off the chair and then helped him to lie down on the floor. He barely weighed anything.

“C’mon, that’s it…” Hank mumbled. He shrugged his jacket off and shoved it under the kid’s head and back, then rolled him onto his side. Connor’s eyes were still open, but he didn’t resist Hank moving him. With his hand on Connor’s chest, he could feel his heartbeat racing under his palm and the way he panted for breath.

“Chris!” Hank shouted. “Get an ambulance here!” Bless the guy, he was already on the phone before he even got a glance in the break room. He rubbed the boy’s back and tried to ignore the way he felt his brain starting to cloud. A little hand came up to grab his arm and his resolve broke. “Tell me what’s wrong, Connor. Keep your eyes open for me, okay?” He was so pale, and Hank could see every one of his damn freckles.

“I’m okay,” Connor whispered. “I’m okay.”

Hank pushed Connor’s hair out of his face and frowned down at him, trying to figure out if there was some injury he couldn’t see. Had he hit his head? Was he panicking? He felt clammy and his hand dropped from Hank’s wrist. He gagged and Hank prepared himself for a mess, but all that happened was some drool leaking from his mouth. “Christ, kid, you’re not okay, so just tell me what’s wrong,” Hank insisted. Maybe he tried to answer and maybe he didn’t, but Connor gagged again and spent the next little while shaking and trying to vomit with apparently nothing to bring up.

Chris poked his head into the break room still holding his phone. “ETA’s over an hour, Hank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank swore. “What the fuck is taking them so long”

“Apparently there’s been an incident over in Ferndale,” Chris explained, looking down at Connor with wide eyes. The kid curled up and caught his breath.

“Fuck Ferndale!” Hank shouted. “There’s a fucking kid here and there’s something fucking wrong with him!”

“There’s nothing they can do, Hank, I tried! Believe me!” Chris insisted.

“Give me that,” Hank snapped and he kept rubbing Connor’s back with one hand while he held Chris’ phone with the other. “How in the damn hell does it take an ambulance over a God damned hour to get to a fucking police station? This is a fucking emergency!”

_“I’m sorry,”_ the dispatcher on the other side sounded timid like a mouse. _“There aren’t enough drivers, and I can’t get anyone there any sooner. I can talk you through—“_

Hank cursed and threw the phone back at Chris, who was lucky enough to catch it. Connor whimpered and Hank had to admit that he’d officially lost his shit. Chris didn't’ hold it against him. “Hank, lemmy take care of this okay? You should probably go sit down and cool off.”

Hank looked down at his shaking hands and nodded. He stood up and ignored the pull to gather the kid up and not let go. That wasn’t his son. He wasn’t going to help anything by freaking out now, and he hadn’t helped anything then. Christ he needed a drink. Hank made it back to his desk and dropped his head on top of some shitty paperwork to just breathe for a while.

After a few minutes of getting the haze to clear, Hank reached into his desk drawer and downed the entirety of his flask. It burned and settled in his gut like a fireball. Why didn’t he just keep a damn bottle at his desk? Everybody knew he drank. He screwed the cap on and couldn’t help but look toward the break room where Chris was still talking on the phone and kneeling down on the ground next to the kid. Fuck. What good had he been? All he’d done was lose his shit and start cussing like a sailor in front of a kid who was probably terrified already. He tried to make himself at least a little useful by scratching a few lines on his report, but he couldn’t focus. He could just see it being a rough week or two trying to crawl out of this damn hole.

“Hank?” Chris got his attention, and Hank’s head snapped up. “You doing alright?”

“What do you think?” Hank asked dryly. “How’s the kid?”

Chris smiled a little. “Tired, but I think he’ll be okay. Lady on the phone said maybe I should get some sugar in him. I stuck some frosting in his mouth and he’s got some orange juice now.”

“He didn’t want to eat,” Hank said, and he wasn’t even arguing. It just wasn’t fucking fair. “Is he diabetic or something?”

“Think he was just too hungry,” Chris said, his smile dropping into something sad. “Maybe longer than he was in that garden. He’s pretty skinny.”

“He said he doesn’t have any parents,” Hank considered aloud. “He said he lives with some ‘Amanda’ but he doesn’t know her last name.”

Chris shrugged. “You’re the detective. All I know is that he could use a few Twinkies. Do you wanna go talk to him again? See that he’s okay? You still look pretty freaked out.”

Hank stood up and nodded while trying not to feel so damn embarrassed. “Yeah… Thanks, Chris.”

Chris led him back to the break room, and Hank found Connor propped up against a cupboard on the floor. It was probably a good idea not to put him in a chair again. There was a bottle of orange juice from the vending machine in his hands, but he still looked pretty out of it. “Hey, little dude,” Chris said. “You’ve gotta drink that if you wanna feel better. Pretty please?”

Hank watched him coaxing the kid and thought about the pictures on Chris’ desk. Damian was still under a year old, but Hank could see Chris being amazing when he got to be a toddler and a young kid. Hank’s heart hurt.

“I’m not allowed,” Connor mumbled.

Hank wanted to know why the hell a 5 year old thought he wasn’t allowed some fucking orange juice. Instead of asking that, Chris just smiled. “I’m a police officer, right? And you’ve had oranges juice before, right?”

Connor nodded slowly.

“Well,” Chris explained, friendly and patient as ever, “since I’m a police officer I can say you’re allowed. Got it? So, I’d really like it if you drank some juice. You’re not getting in any trouble.”

Connor glanced down at the open bottle balanced between his legs and then frowned at Chris. “It’s a test,” the kid decided out loud. “I don’t need this.” Chris’ sugar idea seemed to have woken him up a little at least. At least he was awake enough to be stubborn.

“Okay,” Chris agreed instead of arguing. “I still really want you to drink some. It’d make me pretty happy since I think it’ll help you feel better.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Connor said, voice dull. Hank just watched, feeling helpless. He did feel better, seeing the kid talking and sitting up, but something was definitely wrong here. “I don’t feel anything. I don’t need anything. Can I see Amanda now?”

Chris and Hank exchanged looks. He wasn’t the only one a little concerned. “Drink your orange juice,” said Chris more firmly. “Once you’re done we’ll see what we can do about finding Amanda. Okay?”

There was a few seconds of quiet where Connor looked at them both, still dazed but definitely thinking. Slowly and with a suspicious look in his eyes, he lifted the bottle of juice and drank. A little of it spilled down his chin. Chris smiled. “That’s good, Connor. Thanks. That really helps me a lot.”

Connor frowned, but he slowly relaxed and drank his juice. More of it ended up on his shirt than in his mouth, Hank suspected, but he was drinking and that was something.

“Hank?” Jeff walked in, sending a stern look around the room that was a far cry from his usual frown.

“What, Jeff?” If it was about the booze and the yelling, he thought he’d had a good fucking reason.

“I’m going to need you to take the kid,” he said, blunt as ever.

“What?”

Jeff sighed. “I don't want to ask you, Hank, believe me. I made as many calls as I could make, but all the emergency shelters are locked down or evacuated, and I can’t get through to CPS.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Hank groaned. He already knew his mental health was going to be on its ass. “You don’t want to subject a kid to what my life is like.”

“Believe me: I don’t,” Jeff agreed. Great friend. “You’re a Lieutenant, you’ve got experience, and you’ve got room.”

“What about Chris?” Hank asked, throwing Chris remorselessly before the wolves. “He’s got a kid.”

“Man,” Chris gave him a look of reproach. “I would love to, seriously, but I just can’t handle that. I’m working non-stop, and my wife’s already so busy with Damian.”

“And you guys think that I can handle it?” Hank asked, incredulous.

“You did once,” Jeff said, going right for the gut. “Do it again. This kid’s your key witness and he needs somewhere safe to stay until we find his family.”

There really was a part of him that would sleep easier with the kid right there, where he could see that he was alive. It was just the trauma talking. “No,” Hank refused.

“If I believed it was going to wreck you or the kid, I wouldn’t ask,” Jeff insisted. “Say no again and I’ll listen. I promise I’ll find somebody else… I just think it would be good for you to take care of him for now.”

“You fight dirty, Jeff,” Hank muttered and he looked away. “Fucking hell. Of course this city falls afuckingpart the second the androids decide to quit working. God damn toasters.”

“You can call me if you don’t think you can be safe,” Jeff promised quietly. “I think you can handle this.”

“Never get into gambling, Jeff,” Hank said. “You’ll be broke in no time.”


	3. At Hank's House

Connor had become more alert for a little while, but Hank had to carry him out to the car and get him buckled in. He didn’t seem to care how Hank moved him or where they were going, and Hank wasn’t sure if that were a good thing or not. It was dark because winter was fucking shitty like that, and he had tried his damn best not to look down at the little body in his arms while he’d carried Connor or think about the last time he’d done up someone else’s seatbelt. Kid should have had a car seat, but whatever. Hank hardened his heart to the thoughts creeping at the edges of his consciousness like Collins at a buffet table and shut the car door. When he’d gotten himself settled in the driver’s seat, he risked a glance over and saw the kid just sitting there, looking straight ahead without expression.

Okay, then. The less they had to interact, the better. Hank turned on his music, put the car in reverse and pulled out of his spot.

He should have been driving Cole home, and Cole should have been talking about his day or dinosaurs or whatever new thing he’d found interesting about this shithole world.

Shut the fuck up, thoughts. Fuck you. This is fine. He’s just a kid and it’s the middle of the damn apocalypse. Stop being a fucking pussy. Everybody in that fucking house was murdered and the kid was sick, so what the fuck was Hank being so damn selfish for? Just put up with it for a day or two and then it’ll be over…

He kept his hands tight on the wheel and his eyes wide open.

The whole city was in lockdown. They had the damn military out on the streets, and as many guys as they could get from the force out patrolling. The system had fallen the fuck apart the second the androids had walked out of their jobs. Hank could’ve told them it’d happen. Androids acting like they thought they were fucking people. Maybe if this hadn’t happened, an actual emergency shelter could have taken the fucking kid and Hank wouldn’t have to be fucking dealing with this shit…

The kid didn’t say anything on the drive. Probably couldn’t have over the music, and Hank refused to feel guilty about it. When he pulled into his driveway, he cut the ignition and sighed. He gave the silence a minute to sink in, braced himself, and then he looked at Connor. Connor was still looking straight ahead. If it wasn’t for his breathing, Hank might’ve thought he was a fucking mannequin. Horror movie shit right there. “Okay… You in there, kiddo?”

Connor turned his head and looked at Hank. “Yes, Officer?”

Yeah. Creepy as fuck. “Uh. My name’s Hank. Go ahead and use it. Are you scared? Going to a new place is pretty scary.”

“I’m not scared,” the kid said. It wasn’t even the sort of denial you got from someone claiming they weren’t tired. It was honest to God conviction.

“Okay… Good. Well, are you allergic to dogs or anything? I’ve got a dog. I guess I should have asked…”

Connor’s eyes widened and he made a tiny gasp. It was the first expression other than ‘suspicious’ he’d seen on him all damn day. “You have a dog?”

“Yeah,” Hank couldn’t help but smile a little. “His name’s Sumo. He’s big, but he’s friendly so don’t worry. I’ll put him in the basement if he’s bothering you.”

“He won’t bother me,” Connor said quickly. “I like dogs.”

Somehow that had been surprising. The house he’d seen hadn’t seemed like a pet kind of place. “Yeah? Do you have a dog?”

“I’ve never seen a dog,” Connor admitted. Liked dogs but never met one? Kid logic. Hank smiled and tried his best to stay upbeat. It was a real stretch from his usual personality.

“Well you’re about to meet the best dog in the world, okay? Gimmy a sec and I’ll let you out.” Hank went around to Connor’s side and tugged the door open. It stuck a little sometimes. Connor sat still while Hank unbuckled him and picked him up against his chest. It was cold, and Hank cursed under his breath because he hadn’t thought to grab him a coat or something when they’d taken him. He could feel the poor kid shaking. Connor’d gotten the knack of getting held now, and he put his arms around Hank’s neck. Hank could already hear Sumo’s big old woofing from the other side of the door, and he expertly crowded in and shut the door before he could get out. He was panting, his tail was wagging, and he even had the damn tippy taps going on. He wasn’t jumping up, though, even though he kept trying to sniff Connor’s feet: Sumo was a good boy.

“Yeah, you know we’ve got company, huh boy?” Hank used his free hand to ruffle Sumo’s fur, then he straightened up and looked at Connor. “Do you want to say hi?”

“I don’t want anything…” Connor said, without taking his eyes off the dog. “I don’t have to…”

“Well, Sumo wants to say hi to you.” Hank propped his ass against the wall to keep from tipping over while he kicked his shoes off, then walked around to put Connor down on the couch. Sumo followed.

“Sumo, sit,” Hank said and Sumo sat with his tail thumping against the floor and his nose on the edge of the cushion. “Good boy.” He straightened up once he’d gotten Connor propped up with a pillow and a wadded up old blanket. “You can pet him,” Hank invited. “He’s not gonna bite you.”

Connor looked up at him. He was drooping a little and he was still shaking, but he looked awed. “I can…” Connor said, just above a whisper, “Am I allowed? Did Amanda say?”

“I haven’t met this Amanda,” Hank said, “I’m hoping you’re gonna help me find her. You’re allowed to pet the dog, though.”

Those big, amazed eyes looked down, and Connor folded his hands in his lap like a much older kid. “I don’t have permission. I don’t need to pet Sumo.”

Well damn. That was just taking ‘well-behaved’ to a new level. “It’s like how you came with us to the station, kid. I'm a Lieutenant and I say you can pet the damn dog. Got it?” Shit. He had to learn to watch his fucking mouth.

Why did he even care? Hank shrugged the matter off and retreated to the kitchen. He was trying so damn hard to be nice, but what was the point? He opened the fridge and looked around for something to eat. It wasn’t like there was a lot open with the end of the world going on…

\---

Connor watched the dog who started to push his nose up against Connor’s legs. He was big and he looked very soft. It watched the way his tongue flopped out of its mouth and the way his nose wiggled. This was a dog. It had seen pictures of dogs before, but seeing one move and breathe and look back at it was… Good.

Sumo stood up and put his front paws up on the couch so that he could nose at Connor’s face. His breath smelled funny. “Ah!” Sumo licked it on the face. Wide eyed, Connor looked toward the kitchen, then back at Sumo. “Lieutenant Anderson said to sit. You have to sit, Sumo,” Connor whispered urgently. To its relief, Sumo sat and whined.

“Hey, what sort of mischief are you getting up to, Sumo?” Lieutenant Anderson asked sternly. He had a big, wooden spoon in one hand and he was walking toward them with a frown. Connor knew that wasn’t good. It took a risk and pushed itself down to kneel beside Sumo and it put its back to him while it looked up at Lieutenant Anderson.

“Sumo hasn’t done any mischief,” Connor said, careful to speak properly and calmly. “Sumo sat.” It wasn’t sure if Lieutenant Anderson would believe it. It might even be disciplined for lying and speaking out of turn. It would be better than seeing the big, soft dog be disciplined. It could feel the dog’s warmth through its shirt. Sumo woofed.

“Yeah, that big lug is just happy to meet somebody new, isn’t he?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. His stern expression melted into a small smile. He made so many faces. “Hah. Looks like he likes you more than he likes cheese.” Sumo woofed again and stood up, jostling Connor, and trotted over to Lieutenant Anderson. Lieutenant Anderson looked down at him. “Oh, so now you remember I exist, huh?”

Connor watched Lieutenant Anderson turn away and walk back to where he had come from. The dog was gone now. Connor had touched the dog, sort of. The dog had touched it, though. It hadn’t done anything wrong.

Its stomach hurt. It wasn’t pain because Connor didn’t feel pain, but it was the only name there was for the sharp, bad feelings. It tried to take a deep breath, but that only made it worse so it breathed little breaths and tried not to move. It mustn’t move. Everything was cold now that Sumo was gone, and it tried desperately to keep itself still. The room it was in was full of dark colours and places it could fit into if it had to. It wouldn’t. It didn’t want to be disciplined, but it didn’t want anything and it couldn’t try to hide. It just couldn’t. It would be bad.

Its head snapped up when it saw Lieutenant Anderson’s shadow on the floor and it didn’t move. It didn’t move. It mustn’t. It squeezed its fingers together to stop them from shaking.

“Here,” Lieutenant Anderson said. It wasn’t the soft, gentle voice he used some times, or the loud one, or the one that went along with ‘put the gun down’. It was the voice Lieutenant Anderson had used in the times he talked quietly to no-one and grumbled. A bowl thunked down on the low table and a spoon clinked on the side of it. It could smell it.

It looked at Lieutenant Anderson and waited for instruction, but Lieutenant Anderson sat down on the soft, long chair and ate out of the big, black bowl. Connor waited.

\---

Hank switched on the TV and ignored the eyes on him while he ate his KD and tried to relax into the couch but he just couldn’t. It pissed him off, but how could he _not_ worry? Suddenly he was responsible for this half-starved, weirdly quiet kid from a murder scene and he had to make sure he stayed alive. He’d never asked for that. A damn violation of his boundaries is what it was. Why the hell had he let Jeff bully him into it? He didn’t want to worry. He didn’t want to be battling away how fucking much it hurt to think about Cole and how it should have been him Hank was taking care of. But there he was, worrying because the kid had apparently gone into hypoglycemic shock or something and nearly fucking scared him half to death at the station. There was no way a bottle of orange juice was the magic cure all. He was just doomed to worry about the kid until he could give him to somebody else to worry over.

He sighed. Fuck Jeff. Fuck himself for caring so damn much. The kid didn’t deserve any of this and it was just so fucking sad. Hank put the pot down and looked at Connor. He was just sitting there, looking up at Hank from where he was barely sitting upright on the floor with big brown eyes and not even touching his food. “What’s the matter? Do I got something on my face?”

“No,” Connor answered. His voice was barely louder than Sumo crunching on his kibble in the kitchen.

“Okay, well you’re staring over here a lot. Is there something you want to say?”

“No.”

“You should eat your mac and cheese,” Hank gestured at the bowl. “It’s not gourmet or nothing, but it’s food.”

“I don’t need food,” Connor said, but he glanced over at the bowl and fidgeted with his hands. Hank sighed again.

“You don’t need to be shy. I want you to eat it. It’s for you, and I'm going to feel a lot better if I don’t think you’re going to keel over.”

“I’m okay,” said Connor. Same damn thing he’d said last time. Hank put his pot down on the table and got down on the floor too so he could scoop the kid up and put him back on the couch. Hank picked up the bowl and spoon next, and he put the bowl onto Connor’s lap and the spoon in his hand, but Connor just shook his head and made no move to eat it.

Hank sighed and trudged off to the kitchen again, then returned with a glass of milk. He held it out. “Drink this at least,” he tried. Damn it, he just wasn’t qualified to be doing this.

Connor tried at least. He lifted up the cup. It clicked against his teeth and slopped out onto his shirt. Shit. The kid was still shaking too. Hank took the cup again and put his hand behind Connor’s back. He held the cup carefully and Connor drank a little while some re-run played on the sports stream. He leaned more and more of his scant weight against Hank’s hand as he slowly worked his way through a third of the glass. Sumo plodded over with his leash in hand and dropped it by the couch, but Hank shook his head. “Sorry, Sumo. No walk today.”

Sumo woofed and Connor forgot all about the milk in favour of staring at him. Hank set the glass down on the table and Sumo jumped up with his front paws between him and Connor while he leaned over and started licking the milk off the kid’s face.

“Hey! Gentle, Sumo. Gentle.”

Sumo, bless his old tricks, settled more of his weight on his rump and just laid his big head on Connor’s legs.

There was a little smile on Connor’s face. It shouldn’t have felt so good to see the kid happy. How was it fair when he would never make Cole smile again? When Sumo was Cole’s dog? But after all that stress, that little smile meant ‘its going to be okay’ and Hank couldn’t help the bittersweet smile that twisted his lips.

He left them alone like that for a bit, with Connor propped up with pillows and Sumo squishing his legs. He half watched the TV while he finished his own dinner and pretended not to notice the cautious little pats Connor started giving Sumo.

Eventually, Sumo needed to go out to the backyard to piss and Hank rooted around his closet. Even his smallest old t-shirt would be huge on the tiny little guy, and he’d probably be able to squirm right through the neck hole if he wanted. It would have to do, though. “Okay, Connor, let’s get you cleaned up for bed. Okay?”

Connor nodded and got himself down off the couch. Hank watched him for a minute to make sure he wouldn’t fall over then led him to the bathroom. With no dog to distract him, Connor was all poker-face again. Hank started running a bath. The kid looked too young to be left alone, but Hank still felt weird about it. You could be a saint and people would still look at you funny for helping someone else’s kid to not drown in the bath. The kid had a serious risk of passing out, though, on top of being maybe four or five damn years old. He had a fucking crazy vocabulary for a kid that young. Maybe he was older and Hank was just guessing wrong. He had that childish way of mashing his syllables and approximating the sounds, but he was pretty focused when Hank asked questions and what preschooler knew the word acquaintance?

“How old are you, Connor?” Hank asked.

“I don’t know,” Connor said. He knew what bath time was because he started picking at the little buttons on his shirt, but he was shaky and clumsy. Hank resigned himself to helping.

“Do you know when your birthday is?”

“No,” Connor answered. Holy shit. Hank’s eyes narrowed he helped slide Connor’s arms out of his sleeves.

313248317 1

2

Who the _fuck_ tattooed a child? He had scars, too. This kid, just barely out of being a damn baby, had a number tattooed over his heart and a Y incision like an autopsy. It must have been been a surgery… Fuck. That had taken him way off guard. It wasn’t even the only tattoo. There were more on his upper arms, his thighs, his back, even the bottom of his foot. It was weird. It was very weird.

He had the kid clean, dry and bundled in Hank’s old shirt before 8pm. It was a bad fucking idea, but with the kid asleep on the couch, Hank finally opened his bottle of whiskey and took a well deserved swig. He’d stay in case the kid needed him, and he wouldn’t get too drunk. Just enough to take the edge off and get rid of that guilt and despair hiding in the gaps between his thoughts. He just needed one drink.


	4. In Error

Hank groaned as he woke up. Pretty normal for him, except he’d fallen asleep on the damn ground beside the couch. Well, that part was pretty normal too. Fuuuck. His mouth was dry and his head was pounding. He looked around blearily and a jolt of adrenaline woke him the rest of the way up when he remembered the kid. Shit. He’d slept like a fucking log. What if something had happened? The anxiety was too familiar. His eyes scanned the couch and he saw Connor there, sitting with an almost-empty glass of milk on his lap and Sumo licking Connor’s feet where they poked out over the end of the couch. He was smiling.

“Ugh. Sorry,” Hank rasped. He got himself up and rubbed his head. “Morning. You feeling okay?”

Connor’s smile dropped and he spun to look at Hank, nearly kicking poor Sumo in the face in the process.

“Easy, easy,” Hank said, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” said Connor. He looked down at his glass then back at Hank.

“You want some more milk?” Hank asked. Having to be a responsible human while hung over was the worst.

“No, thank you. I don’t want anything.”

“Right,” Hank mumbled. “I gotta go get cleaned up… Don’t burn the house down.”

“I won’t.”

Jeez. This was just more proof that he wasn’t supposed to be looking after a kid. The universe had made that message more than fucking clear. Too wrapped up in his own shit to stay sober for one damn night while he had a strange kid on his couch who could very well have fucking died on him or something. Hank grabbed some clothes and went to shower. At least the water and electricity were still on. With the robot apocalypse and all, it wouldn’t be surprising if it all crapped out.

The hot water rushed down from the showerhead and started to steam up the air. Hank got in and got his hair wet. The water didn’t help the headache, but he’d feel less grimy and gross when he was done. He’d have to tell Jeff this wasn’t working out. He’d disappoint him again and put more work on his plate, but what else was new? Somewhere along the line, their friendship had turned into some heavy piece of shit that dragged Jeff down, but Jeff wouldn’t let go and Hank was enough of an asshole that he just kept taking and taking. Great. Now he had guilt on top of guilt on top of a hangover.

What had the kid done while he’d been sleeping? He’d drank his milk which was good and made friends with Sumo. Maybe Hank would be able to feed him up and get some more information out of him to solve the case and find Amanda. The name didn’t mean anything to him, and she could have been anyone. She lived in the house, and the dresses had probably been hers, but there hadn’t been a damn hint of personal correspondence or ID. He might have to take another look around.

Then the kid… Who was Connor? Was he Amanda’s kid? He said he didn’t have parents, but he must have somewhere. Hospitals would have a record of the surgery. The tattoos were something else. They weren’t connected to any organized crime ring Hank was familiar with, and the numbers didn’t mean anything to him. Every tattoo seemed to go with a set of scars though, so maybe it was some kind of medical information? It was seriously fucked up either way. He’d ask Connor. Maybe the kid would know something.

When he got out of the shower he felt a little more human and a little less like he’d been put through a meat grinder. Connor was still sitting where Hank had left him, and Hank poured some cereal for both of them. With only a small hesitation, he dug a little plastic spoon out from the back of the cutlery drawer and wiped it off before dropping it into Connor’s bowl. It was kid sized and it was supposed to change colour in the cold milk, though Hank wasn’t sure if that sort of thing kept on working for years. Hank put the bowls on the table along with a mug of hot coffee for himself. The black elixir of the gods.

“Connor,” Hank called. “Breakfast time.”

Connor peered over the back of the couch to look into the kitchen. “What should I do, Lieutenant?”

Hank tapped his spoon against his bowl. “C’mere and eat it, kid. I’ve got a headache from hell, so do me a favour and don’t fight me on it today.”

Connor got down off of the couch. Oh yeah, Hank had forgotten he was wearing that big old t-shirt. He didn’t have any socks, and Hank eyed his floor skeptically while he tried to remember the last time he’d swept. He looked a little steadier on his feet, and he walked over to look up at Hank with his hands folded behind his back like a little soldier. Hank got a good look at his face, with his pale skin and his big, round eyes. His hair stuck up all over the place, and a couple of little curls were hanging out all alone on his forehead. He didn’t have any of the baby fat Cole’d had at that age but the likeness reminded Hank why he’d gotten drunk in the first place last night. Kid hurt his damn heart. With a sigh, Hank bent down to pick the kid up under the arms and set him down on the chair in front of his cereal. He could hardly see over the edge of it, and Hank grabbed a pillow off the couch for him to sit on.

“There,” said Hank, satisfied that the kid could reach his food. “Eat up,” he said, probably more gruffly than he should have.

Connor watched him for a minute and Hank started on his breakfast while trying not to pay any attention to the way the kid was studying him. The kid gave it up after a bit and he picked up his spoon, looked at it, then stuck it in his mouth like a lollypop. It was a start. Slowly, the kid started to try his cereal. It was a relief.

“Good job, Connor,” Hank said, and the kid’s face jolted up to stare at him again. Hank worried he’d scared him off his food, but Connor smiled a little then kept on eating and it was Hank’s turn to stare because he hadn’t deserved to get a smile like that. He hadn’t done shit except pour some cereal in a bowl. Hell, he hadn’t even been particularly nice.

He waited until Connor’d finished to speak. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He asked Connor.

“No, Lieutenant,” Connor answered.

“You can call me Hank if you want, you know?” Hank reminded him. “It’s a lot easier.”

“I don’t want anything,” said Connor. Hank should have figured he’d say something like that again sooner or later. Sometimes trauma did weird things to people, but as much as he wanted to be a nice guy, he couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed.

“Call me Hank or call me Lieutenant. I don’t care. I’m just putting it out there, so call me what you want and eat what you want and pet the dog if you want. I’m not going to bite your damn head off.”

Connor answered immediately. Didn’t even think. “I don’t need food. I’m not really hungry.” He looked down at his empty cereal bowl and Hank felt guilty for not asking if he’d wanted more. Probably would have said he didn’t want anything either. “I’m imagining things…”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Hank argued more gently. What kind of asshole was he, getting annoyed at the little guy?

 _“I’m not lying. I don’t need it.”_ Connor insisted. He’d raised his voice for the first time Hank’d heard, and Hank held his palms up with a shake of his head. He felt dead tired all of a sudden. It just washed over him. Connor could have been passive because he was weak. He could have been weak and hungry because he’d been stuck in that garden for days. He could have had those scars and tattoos for medical reasons. He could have said he didn’t want anything because he was shy and traumatized. He could have a good vocabulary because he was just smart. He could be paying attention to what was allowed and what wasn’t and if he had permission just because he was a kid and kids had to ask their caregivers to do stuff. It all had explanations and there was no reason for it to rub Hank the wrong way so fucking much.

“Okay,” Hank sighed. He drank some of his coffee and cracked his back. “Do you got any questions for me?”

Connor was quiet for a second. “Am I supposed to…?” Fucking hell.

\---

The Lieutenant sighed. “Just asking in case you were curious about something. A lot happened yesterday.”

Connor looked around this new room curiously. It wasn’t like any of the other rooms in Amanda’s house. There were so many colours and soft edges here. “Do you know what’s supposed to happen now?” There had been no ending to the last test; just a long wait in the garden. It was impossible to tell what it was expected to do now, but Amanda would have left it instructions if it weren’t meant to figure it out itself.

“Well,” said the Lieutenant. “You and me are gonna go back to the station. I’ve got work to do and I can’t exactly leave you here. Besides, there are a lot of questions I still need to ask you about the last night you saw Amanda.”

“The station in the lab?” Connor asked. Perhaps the test was over after all. It would make sense for them to go there now to test how it was doing, and it couldn’t feel fear so it wasn’t afraid of what they would find.

“The police station: where we were last night after we got you.” Then it wasn’t over yet… It looked around the room again to try to find the cameras, but they were well hidden.

“What am I supposed to do now?” It had been concerned that it wouldn’t be able to finish its test when its only instruction had been to stay in the garden, but now it had been allowed(?) food and it would have new instructions. It hadn’t failed. Not yet. The way its body hurt and its head felt cloudy were all imagination. It couldn't let that stop it from doing well.

“Don’t worry, kid. You just have to answer some questions and we’re going to make sure you’re okay.” The Lieutenant smiled at it, and it tried to find the meaning behind the expression. Like Amanda, this man would be teaching it how to succeed. Would Amanda be proud? Connor sat up properly.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, no problem…” Lieutenant Anderson cleared his throat.

“I won’t let you down.”

\---

“I’m sure you won’t, kiddo. Let’s head to the station, huh? Maybe some of the guys have turned up something.” He paused on his way to the sink and looked back at him. Fuck. “Ah, shit, your clothes…” He hadn’t thrown them in the washer. Hank grimaced and wondered for a second if the t-shirt wasn’t good enough but no. He rejected the idea right after. What the fuck would people think about him if he dragged the kid into the station wearing an old shirt like a fucking dress? It was almost winter and the kid looked like a strong wind would blow him over.

Hank solved his problem by giving the kid back his slightly juice-stained pants and old socks, tying a knot in the t-shirt, wrapping him up in a blanket and carrying him out to the car. Good enough… The kid didn’t seem to mind, and Hank tried his best not to feel guilty.

“Hey, little man!” Chris said to Connor once they’d gotten to the station, smiling widely. Hank put him down and went to drop down into his chair. See what shit was cluttering up his inbox now.

“Hello, Officer,” he heard Connor reply, and Hank took a glance over to make sure he stayed on his feet. He seemed to be doing fine. He had the little throw blanket draped around his shoulders and it was early enough that some of the other officers were coming over to say hello. He’d be fine. Hank made his escape before he could second guess that conclusion.

Hank kept himself busy with his messages for a while, sifting through the shit and flagging stuff that looked important so he would maybe remember to go back for it later. Their fucking database was worse. He logged in and fucking fifty things at least needed him to push a button. Why the fuck bother with that shit? He opened the shit one by one and hit ‘acknowledge’ after barely skimming over the words. Lieutenant. Stupid fucking title. He’d been so proud of himself for that promotion, keen to rise through the ranks when he thought having a future meant something. All it meant was more shitty responsibility, paperwork, and bullshit. The system said these dumbass documents needed his digital signature though proving that he’d read them. The system was fucking stupid. A couple officers checked in with him before their patrols and he waved them off, pretending not to hear the ‘I told you’ and the ‘probably half in the bag’ that followed the interaction once they were supposedly out of earshot. He fished in his drawer for the mickey he’d stashed there and took a swig.

There was way more paperwork than ever with the fucking android shit. Hank drummed his fingers on top of his desk and wondered if androids might have had anything to do with the kid and this ‘Amanda’. There wasn’t anything to rule it in, but there was nothing to rule it out either. He had a scratch-pad like a normal person instead of those idiots who relied on their tablets, and he scrawled a few things down:

Check with the crime scene guys.

Security system?

Amanda- missing persons reports? Last name?

Owner of property?

ID Vics?

Who is Connor?

School? Friends?

Tattoos??

It was enough to start with. He had a few phone calls to make and he’d see where the day took him. Shit was never as fast as it looked on TV. _Especially_ not in an emergency for some fucking reason.

“Anderson,” Pearson called his name and simultaneously leaned over to knock on Hank’s desk like it was a door. It was irritating, but not worth complaining about.

“Yeah, what?” Hank asked. Just to get a little back, he finished writing his last thought before looking up.

“Got a bunch of break-ins last night. It was CyberLife stores, so they’re thinking it was androids.”

“Yeah,” Hank muttered, “Saw it on the system. Any reason why you think it needs my attention? Got a homicide on my mind.”

“What do you want us to do?”

Hank sighed and held out his hand. Pearson gave him his tablet and zoomed in on the map for him. Hank knew how to use a damn tablet. He took a look at the area and the patrols, then directed his attention to Pearson again. “Looks organized to me. The break-ins happened all around the same time, and traffic was being diverted toward the check-points and patrol’s pretty thin. I’ll see what we can do about getting more guys covering the gaps. If all they took was androids, I don’t give a shit. We should catch the bastards instead of working on recovery…” They didn’t have the fucking budget to pay all these guys, but screw it. If the city wanted them to clear up the crime they’d need to give them more fucking money to do it with. “We need people watching the quieter routes. It’ll be boring, but maybe they’ll see something.”

As soon as one was dealt with, there was another yapping at him. “Hey, Lieutenant, any word on those new tasers?”

“I’ll yell at somebody. You’d think they’d get off their asses.”

“I was looking around online: they don’t really have a lot for fighting androids, but if we could get some of the military surplus, they have some cool gear.”

“Bullets seem to do the job okay,” Hank pointed out.

“Yeah, but they’ll do the job on us too if we’re not careful,” Jacobs countered. “There’s stuff out there to mess with electronics.”

“I guess you’ll have to be careful, because I’m not going to be able to get that kind of thing through.” What did he think he was? God?

“If we’re supposed to be out there with the soldiers, we should have the same equipment.”

Hank fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re not a soldier; you’re a cop. I’m telling you now that there’s no damn way it’s happening, even if I wanted it to. That shit takes more work than just writing a letter to Santa Clause.”

Another annoyance joined the conversation. “Hey, Anderson, what the fuck is up with the kid, huh? This ain’t a daycare.”

Hank glowered at Reed. “You want to take him?”

“Fuck no. Why isn’t CPS dealing with him?”

“Kid’s a witness. Triple homicide, and the whole thing stinks like hell. If you’ve got enough time to complain, why don’t you do me a favour and review the file so you can question the kid?” Hank was busy.

“Do your own work, you lazy piece of shit,” Reed scowled. Hank flipped him off. At least that prick had the decency to say it to his face.

“Hey, Hank?”

“God damn it, what now?” Hank demanded and threw his pen down onto his desk. Chris smiled at him sheepishly.

“Sorry. Uh, I just had to hand off my report from last night.” He dropped a small, stapled bundle of papers onto Hank’s desk with the rest. “Sent you the e-version so give me your sign off when you can, huh?”

“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “Sure.”

Chris gave him a look of pity that Hank really, really wished he wouldn’t make. He didn’t need pity. “I guess all this is pretty rough on you. Do you need a break? Ask the Captain, and I bet he’d give the case to somebody else.” Hank looked down and saw Connor standing next to Chris’ legs looking up at him. Connor straightened up at the attention.

Hank shook his head and felt the annoyance leave him. Maybe Chris thought he was a washed up alcoholic just like the rest of them did… but probably not. Chris didn’t have a mean bone in his body and he was nicer than was good for him. It was amazing he lasted as a cop, but the guy was idealistic enough that the job still hadn’t jaded him. It’d probably happen in a year or two. It’d be a damn shame. “I got it,” Hank said, resigning himself to the shit. It wasn’t the kid’s fault Hank was a mess. It wasn’t his fault Hank didn’t know how to cope.

“If you need anything, just gimme a call,” said Chris with a kind smile that Hank didn’t deserve and a half-assed salute.

“Thanks, Chris,” Hank muttered. Most people had learned by now not to give a shit about him. He’d figure it out eventually. Hank looked down at Connor with a sigh. “Okay, Connor. Hop up here and I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay?” Work was annoying as fuck some times, but it had been a decent distraction to keep the storm clouds at bay. Seeing Connor again after those few hours respite made him feel tired all over again.

Connor looked at the chair that Hank dragged over and then started to climb up, but Hank picked him up and set him down on it before he could fall off or something. Connor fidgeted a little to get comfy and Hank clicked his pen on his notepad.

“Okay. How about you talk to me about Amanda?” Hank asked with professional detachment. Maybe that would be a good start.

Connor nodded slowly and swallowed. Hank gave him the once-over and frowned as a little worry needled its way through his defenses. “I live with Amanda… She teaches me things, and she takes care of me.”

“Is Amanda your nanny?” Hank guessed.

“No.” There went that theory. “She’s just Amanda.”

“How long have you lived with Amanda?”

“Forever,” Connor said. Sounded like a nanny to him, or maybe some kind of foster parent?

“What does Amanda look like, Connor?”

Connor shut his eyes. “Amanda is tall. She has black hair she wears tied up, and brown skin, and brown eyes. She has a necklace…” Connor shook his head and opened his eyes again, then kept talking. “It’s white coloured, but when you move you can see rainbows. The pieces are triangles hanging from wires. She has dresses, and she likes to wear shawls. She wears two rings on her left hand and one on her right hand, and one earring on each ear. She isn’t as tall as you are, and she smells like the roses… She has curly hair…” Connor started to fidget. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Hank was confused. It was pretty good for a kid.

“I should describe Amanda… I didn’t do well. I shouldn’t have stopped so many times, and I shouldn’t have said so many things out of order. I can do it again. I can do it better.”

“Hell… It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. You did a great job.” Man, he looked so upset.

Connor gave him a suspicious look before putting his poker face on again. He spoke quickly and his eyes flickered all over the place like he was imagining her right there. “Amanda is… Amanda is five feet and a half tall, she probably weighs from 140 to 150lbs, and she’s African-American. She has long, curly hair that looks shorter because of the style she ties it up in. She stands properly and takes short steps because of the long dresses she wears. She always holds her head up. Her hands have calluses from taking care of the garden. She folds her hands in front when she stands…”

Holy shit. “That’s… Wow. Okay. That’s good.” He needed to be writing this stuff down. He quickly jotted down what he remembered and made a note to check the missing persons reports next. “Do you play a lot of I-spy kind of games, or what?”

“Spy games…? Yes… I think so…” Hank kept on writing down Amanda’s description.

“And was Amanda nice to you? Did she ever hurt you or make you feel scared?”

“I don’t feel scared. Amanda is nice. She is always making me better.”

That was a relief. Maybe all of Connor’s weirdness was just the trauma of the murders, then. “Did Amanda have any friends?”

Connor tilted his head a little. “I don’t think so.”

“Did anybody ever come to visit you guys?”

“You’re here,” said Connor. He looked over his shoulder at the other officers around the bullpen. “Everybody is here. Sometimes there are the doctors.”

Bingo. Okay. He’d meant if anybody went to their house, but this was something. “You go see the doctor sometimes? Do you know your doctor’s name?”

“They don’t have names.”

“Uh. Okay. Can you tell me about the place you go when you see the doctor? Maybe what the building looks like?”

Connor frowned. “I see the doctors in the lab.”

Over the top of his terminal, Hank could see Tina walking over. Great. Another person with a problem for him to sort out. He looked her up and down. “Going camping, Chen?” She had her overnight bag in hand and she was wearing her combat gear. She gave him a look and crouched to unzip the bag then stacked some clothes from it on her lap. When she stood, she set them down on the edge of Hank’s desk. “It’s not much, but hell, Anderson, you couldn’t find anything else for the boy to wear?” Her expression had a little reproach and even more pity in it. It hadn’t been welcome from Chris and it was annoying from her. He scowled.

“Thanks, now fuck off.” He paused. “Where are you fucking off to, anyway?”

“Incident in Greektown. It might get messy.” She smiled grimly. Hank nodded.

“Yeah, doesn’t it always…” He sighed. “Watch yourself out there.” He pulled up a new window on his terminal and scanned the report. “Shit. Fifteen of the plastic fuckers.”

Tina wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. There are already two cars on the scene. We’re going to check the immediate area. Try to make sure nothing else fishy is going on.”

“What’s the damn world coming to… Should’ve just rounded them all up and shut ‘em down. Set them on fire or something.”

“I hear ya,” came Reed’s voice from his desk. He was reclining in his chair with his arms crossed behind his head. “This is bullshit, trying to catch them. It’s got to be hackers or some shit. Or maybe Kamski decided to fuck with us all and take over the world.” He scoffed and Hank could see him shift his chewing gum to the other side of his mouth. “I say we use this opportunity for target practice. Pah! Pah!” He mimed shooting a gun at nothing and chuckled at whatever shit he was imagining.

“Says the guy on deskwork,” Tina teased.

Reed sobered and gave her a look. “Whatever. Just give them hell out there, huh? Fuck whoever says take them ‘alive’. If any one of them tries anything, you shoot first ask questions later. There’s a million more where they came from.”

Tina smiled at him. “Will do, Gav. Don’t get any papercuts.”

Reed flipped her off.

“Sure wish we still had a few of the police bots for crowd control though,” Chris pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many guys out there were breaking curfew.”

“Hah. I’d break it too,” said Reed. “Nobody tells me when I can and can’t leave my own fucking house.”

“It surprises me every day how little respect you have for authority,” said Tina. She swung her bag over her shoulder and walked it back over to her desk. “You’re a cop, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yeah,” said Reed. “And what do you know? No curfew for me.”

“How does Richard ever put up with you?” Tina laughed. “See you later.”

“… Yeah. Careful out there.”

Hank looked down when he felt something touch his leg, and he saw Connor trying to climb up onto his lap. “Hey, what’re you doing, kid?” He held his hands up but was too damn surprised to know what to do about the little person treating him like furniture. Before Hank could decide whether to help him up or get him down, Connor was up and reaching for the keyboard of his terminal. “Hey, hey, no you don’t,” Hank scolded. He scooped him up under the arms again and stuck him back on the chair. “I need that for work.” Honestly, it was kind of a relief to see that he was acting more like a kid. Connor was passive while Hank put him down on the chair “How about you let me do the detective work?”

Connor frowned, dropped down off the chair again and went around to the other desk where he started to try to climb up again. “Hey,” Hank said more sharply. He stood up and grabbed him again, then held him propped up on his hip. “You’re going to get hurt if you climb around like that.” Connor looked offended. It was pretty funny. It reminded Hank of when he’d used to tease Cole, and that hurt enough to keep him from laughing. “You’re a weird kid, you know that?”

“I don’t need to rest any more, Lieutenant. I can continue.”

“Okay, okay,” Hank smiled a little and patted him on the head before he could think about it. “You’re a big help answering all these questions. You’ve got my attention.” He deposited the kid back on the chair again and Connor surprised him by slumping against the backrest. Hank blinked and pushed Connor’s hair out of his face. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

“I...” His eyes were unfocused and the colour’d left his face. He nodded and swallowed. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, no, not buying that one.” Hank plucked his garbage can off the ground and shoved it in front of the kid just in time. He grimaced and watched Connor carefully. The poor little guy was whimpering by the time he was done throwing up what there was left in his stomach and coughing while he caught his breath. There were tears on his cheeks. Hank grabbed a few tissues and wiped his face off for him. “Shh, take your time… I’ve got you. There you go.” He hardly knew what sorts of platitudes he mumbled while he cleaned Connor up and then propped him up when he started drooping in exhaustion. “Jeez… You don’t have fever,” Hank concluded after touching his forehead. “Milk wasn’t off. Are you feeling nervous?”

Connor shook his head and didn’t say anything.

It was worrying, and Hank knew he wasn’t the fucking one to deal with a sick kid. He could already tell he might panic and tried to fight it off. “I’ll grab you something to drink. Just sit tight.”

Hank had enough to worry about. He didn’t want to have to deal with this. Someone else should take the kid. He couldn’t deal with this. He could hardly keep himself alive. Fuck Jeff. Fuck the stupid androids for fucking up the fucking system. Just fuck. Fuck him for being so fucking fucked in the head. Hank dropped his forehead against the vending machine for a little while and just breathed before stooping down and picking up the bottle of apple juice and making his way back to Connor. He stoppered up his bitching and shoved it down his throat. He deserved to be fucking miserable, and what kind of piece of shit thought about _not_ helping a kid? He wasn’t like those fucking pieces of plastic out there. Maybe it was penance. He twisted the cap open and handed the bottle to Connor. “There you go. Just relax, okay? I won’t make you answer any more questions just yet, so take it easy.”

\---

It hated itself and it hated the way it cried. It wasn’t supposed to cry. It wasn’t supposed to feel sick. It wasn’t supposed to stop in the middle of a test. Still, it huddled in the chair and it slowly drank what had been given to it. It was different from what it was used to, but it wasn’t bad. Thirium tasted hollow, salty, and a little bit bitter. This was sweet.

If Amanda had meant for it to be given a test with Lieutenant Anderson, then maybe it was alright. Just this once.

It let Lieutenant Anderson put it to sleep on two chairs pushed together, and when it woke up it was being carried into the room that it had slept in the night before. Sumo was there. It had been ready to be tested. It had been ready to continue… Why was it so tired? It wasn’t supposed to be tired. It was all in its mind. It should have been doing something. Something to make Amanda happy.

The Lieutenant sat down with it in his lap and propped Connor’s head in the crook of his arm. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Connor knew that it was okay. That it was all in its head. Still, felt the warmth coming from the Lieutenant and turned its head toward it. It should have been sent back to the doctors to be fixed because this sort of behaviour wasn’t what Amanda expected from it, but instead it was being held and that was confusing. It was wrong. It didn’t need comfort or kindness. Still, it found itself relaxing and even though it was awake it stayed where it was and let itself be cradled there. It watched the fabric of the Lieutenant’s shirt wrinkle while he breathed and it breathed at the same time, bewildered but warm.

“Why are you nice to me?” Connor asked. It didn’t need this.

The Lieutenant didn’t answer for a minute, and Connor wondered if it had made the Lieutenant realize his mistake but he just touched Connor’s hair and looked sad. “Just take it easy. How are you feeling, kiddo?”

“My name is Connor,” Connor pointed out. “I’m okay.”

Lieutenant Anderson sighed and shifted Connor off of his lap. Connor regretted its words. “Well, you missed lunch so I’m going to rustle up some dinner and you’re going to eat it. No arguments.” It watched the Lieutenant walk away and give Sumo something to eat, then look through the cupboards. Hesitantly, Connor climbed down from the long chair and went closer to observe. Moving made it feel dizzy, and it took a moment to put its head down on the table before continuing to watch. It was defective, but Amanda and the Lieutenant were still looking past that. It wouldn’t let them down. Its heart was beating so fast again, and it could feel it like footsteps in its chest.

“No arguments,” Connor agreed.

“That’s more like it,” said the Lieutenant. He poured something into a pot and then went back toward the door to pick up a plastic bag which he brought back to Connor. He withdrew a small pile of clothes. “Here. Are you going to be okay changing into this yourself? They’re Tina’s so they’re going to be pretty big on you, but they’ll be better than that shirt.” The Lieutenant frowned down at him with an expression full of doubt and Connor was determined to make it disappear. It lifted its head and took the bundle, then slid down off of the chair.

“Not here,” the Lieutenant interrupted and passed a hand over his face. “Go change in the bathroom.” Connor took a deep breath and blinked to clear the static from its vision and nodded. The Lieutenant knelt down in front of it and caught it by the arms when it swayed. “Shit… Fuck. Shoot. Agh. Never mind, okay? What’s the matter? Do you need to lie down?”

Connor dropped its gaze in shame and the Lieutenant picked it up. “I’m okay,” said Connor while it was carried back to its sleeping spot and laid down. “Why are you nice to me?” it asked again.

“Just stay here until dinner’s done,” said the Lieutenant in another non-answer.

\---

Hank made another pot of KD and thought for the millionth time that he should probably eat a vegetable or two. It wasn't enough for him to do anything about it. He glanced back at the couch more than once and considered calling dispatch to get some paramedics over, or calling Jeff just to cuss him out. Instead, he waited by the stove and started searching the net on his phone. How the fuck was he supposed to know that feeding somebody who’d been starving could be _dangerous_? What kind of sense did that make? None. Fuck all. The bullshit about magnesium and potassium and shit didn’t make it any less stupid. Fucking bullshit. Christ. He could have given the kid an actual heart attack. Apparently medical tattoos were a thing, but it looked like they were usually replacements for the bracelets people wore. The first damn thing that popped up when he Googled ‘y-incision’ was the word autopsy. What the fuck did the internet know?

Still, he made up a smaller serving of KD for the kid than he would have liked to and brought him water instead of milk. A bucket too, in case he felt sick after. It was a weirdly familiar sort of routine even with all of the differences. He got Connor dressed in Tina’s spare clothes instead of soft pyjamas, and he watched the game instead of turning on a cartoon. The kid didn’t complain, and when Hank put a blanket over him on the couch instead of tucking him into bed he said thank you instead of ‘good night, dad’. Hank hated every second of it, but Connor kept glancing at him with something like amazement on his face and so he pushed through and bit back his feelings. It would only be a few days, and then it would be over. The kid would be gone forever. He just had to do this for a few days.

The kid was so fucking small. Hank stayed in the living room again, on the other end of the couch this time. He didn’t need the kid dying in the night, and it really and honestly frightened him that it was a real possibility. He caught himself watching like a hawk when it seemed like the kid’s breathing had changed, and downing an extra glass of whiskey that he hadn’t even realized he’d poured. It wasn’t like it would help him stop thinking about Connor and this case when the kid was right there. He needed it. How could he manage a kid while going through withdrawal? Connor gasped and jerked in his sleep and Hank patted him gently.

A whole day full of bullshit and he hadn’t gotten anywhere on this case. It rankled. No news from the forensics lab. No news about the terminal’s hard drive. Nothing so far from the missing persons’ reports. If Connor went to school, then somebody must have noticed he was missing. Even if he wasn’t old enough, there had to be somebody out there who knew this kid and Amanda, and those three goons.

Sumo padded over and curled up on the floor by Connor’s side of the couch and Hank huffed to himself. “Traitor,” he whispered. The only light in the room was the glow of the television, and its flickering cast half-hearted shadows in the gloom.


	5. In the Cold

The first day, Hank had gotten by with autopilot and disbelief. The second, he’d had time to feel conflicted and guilty. When he woke up on the third day with Connor after his second night in the livingroom, Hank was just fucking tired. It was like the autopilot but with something bone-deep that said: ‘this is happening now, and you can’t do anything about it’.

Connor was awake already, and Hank heaved a sigh as he looked over and saw the little kid’s big eyes fixed on him while he sat there like a statue. He’d been prepared this time, and he didn’t let the grief sucker punch him. “Hey, champ,” Hank rasped and sat up. He grabbed an almost-empty beer off the table and downed the rest to wet his whistle. “It’s another bright, sunshiny day in paradise…”

He packed more sarcasm into that than there were disciplinary records in his file, but it was lost on the kid who looked toward the window. “Is it really alright for me to rest?”

The fuck kind of question was that? “Yeah, kid.” Hank stood and stretched his aching back. Rolled his shoulders and heard them crack. Man. It felt like years since he’d gotten out of bed without an ache somewhere. “That’s all you’ve got to do.” Technically he needed more questions answered, but something kept that fact out of his answer.

Connor nodded and then it was like what happens when you get tissue paper wet or your divorce lawyer tells you that you might want to think about giving her the house. His shoulders rounded, his head drooped, and he dropped his back against the pillow. Out of the sleeves of Tina’s shirt, his little arms grabbed for his blanket and pulled it closer. Damn it he was already as late as he could get away with. Why had he told the kid he could sleep? Hank sighed and resigned himself to carrying the little bundle around again. He needed a damn babysitter. Too bad androids had killed the childcare business.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Hank asked. It was way too early for this and it had been a damn long time since he’d had to talk to anybody before his morning coffee. Thin fingers flexed and tapped against the soft cotton.

“Three hours,” said Connor. Jesus. There was clearly a lot to unpack this morning but Hank was tired and he didn’t even know if the kid really knew how to read a clock. He was tired of the reminders sticking into his soul like arrows and bleeding out whatever was left of his will to live. Tired of disappointing Jeff. Tired of that nagging voice in his head telling him what a worthless piece of shit he was. Just another day in the life.

\---

Connor felt its alert state slip away with the verification of its current objective. It was so strange that it would be allowed to sleep, especially in a testing environment. Had Amanda been pleased with it? Had it done well? It was doing nothing wrong. It was allowed. It was allowed…

_What had been happening? Was Amanda coming? Was Amanda there? Was there a target? Had it failed? It should have paid attention. Was she waiting?_

It woke so abruptly that it flailed and the hard ground crashed into its face, making him see red and the ice-burn-sharp sensation that wasn’t pain explode from the side of its face. The questions still raced in its mind and it didn’t feel anything. It didn’t hurt. Someone touched it and it whipped its head around to look, heart thundering. It took a moment for it to realize that it was Officer Wilson who had touched it, and that this test wasn’t one where it needed to run. To reassure itself of that, it took its focus away from the officer and looked at its surroundings. It released its breath, but stayed alert even though the world felt very far away.

“Hey, little guy. You okay there?” Officer Wilson asked, peering into its face. He finished tugging the blanket from around Connor’s legs and Connor nodded. It stood quickly and put its hands behind its back.

“What the hell happened here? I’m gone for two seconds…” Lieutenant Anderson approached carrying a mug. What was inside was hot, Lieutenant Anderson was in pain and unenergetic, Sumo had rubbed himself on his legs some time recently, and he had been writing with a pen.

“I fell,” said Connor. It admitted its mistake without expression and stayed as still as it could. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Nobody’s mad at you, dude!” Officer Wilson smiled and poked Connor on the cheek. “I thought you mighta gotten hurt. That’s all.”

“I don’t feel anything. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” Connor apologized sincerely.

“All good,” Officer Wilson said inexplicably. It didn’t seem like everything was good, though. Lieutenant Anderson walked past them to his desk and sat down with a sigh.

\---

Christ. How the hell did it take all fucking morning to answer his God damned e-mails? He was a fucking cop. He should be doing more than composing politely worded requests for people to fuck off and signing them:

Hank Anderson, Det. Lt. DCPD  
Ph: 313-237-2850  
E-mail: andersonh169@detroitmi.gov  
20 Atwater Detroit, MI 48226

If he could go back in time, it wouldn’t be the first thing he would do, but he would kick his younger self in the face for going after that promotion. It all felt like a sham at this point. Did anybody reading those fucking e-mails realize he was a depressed alcoholic who was late to work on the regular and could hardly manage himself, never mind a precinct? It’d be more fucking apt if he signed them:

Hank Fucking Anderson  
Probably won’t answer his phone  
Just give up.

He groaned as he stood up and stretched. His neck was killing him for that second night sleeping in the living room. God. The number of people who thought he could answer their android questions was fucking ridiculous. They’d have better luck calling Communications and listening to their bullshit platitudes. He turned to head to the shitter and his eyebrows shot up. He’d figured that with how quiet everything was that the kid had gone back to sleep after his mishap, but he was awake and sitting there. Just sitting there. Connor noticed his attention and looked up at him. It was awkward as fuck.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hello.”

Hank scratched the back of his neck. He needed something for the kid to do and he doubted that he would say anything if he got hungry or thirsty and he probably didn’t know where the bathroom was… Right. Hank shook his head at himself. He was a halfassed lieutenant and a halfassed caregiver babysitter whatever the fuck this arrangement was. Couldn’t even kill himself: just halfassed that too and drank himself toward a slow death. “You don’t have to just, you know, sit there. You can do stuff so long as you don’t go and get yourself killed.”

“You didn’t tell me what to do,” the kid pointed out and Hank sighed.

“Well come with me. We’ll dig something out from the waiting area for you to play with and get you a snack…” Hank looked around. “Chris, could you take the kid to find a toy or something while I take a piss?”

“Sure thing, boss,” said Chris, already getting up from his chair. At least Hank didn’t have to feel like a dick for asking him to do it. Chris went over to talk to Connor and Hank made his escape. He hadn’t made it three damn feet before Chen was trotting up to him.

“Sorry, Anderson. Can I get a signature on these intakes?”

Hank sighed and took the pen and clipboard that were held out toward him. He scrawled his signature on them, and when he turned around there was another guy standing there hopefully.

“What?” Hank barked. The newbie’s spine snapped straight and he grimaced, but he walked over.

“Uh, Lieutenant, I was just wondering if you had figured out who I’d be partnered up with since Hayes is on medical.”

“Nope,” Hank said bluntly. “Remind me in a few hours.” He was already walking toward the hall, but the rookie called after him.

“Lieutenant! The patrol schedule too…”

“Riiight, right…”

At least nobody talked to him while he pissed. When he made his way back he stopped by the waiting area and saw Connor sitting on the floor with Chris holding out a little puzzle block game. Good. At least that was taken care of.

“Reed,” Hank said and stopped at the goblin’s lair. “Get me the shit you need for gang surveillance and any busts you’ve got planned. I got a schedule to make.”

“Yep,” muttered Reed. Good enough. He’d probably have it done before he finished his coffee.

“Thanks,” Hank said. He was mostly thankful the interaction had been as brief as possible.

“Guys!” Pearson called from the breakroom. He was gesturing behind him at the TV and his eyes were wide. “Guys, shit’s going down! Get in here!”

“What now?” Hank grumbled to himself. He turned away instead. Fuck it. He had enough to do. He lowered himself into his chair, cracked his neck, and pulled up the GPS on the patrols. Probably some more asshats going apeshit because they realized they don’t have androids to deliver their fucking groceries. Hire some humans and go to a fucking store once in a while, Hank thought with annoyance. Pissed him the fuck off how many androids he used to see places. If you saw another human in a supermarket it was like finding a fucking leprechaun.

“You wanna show Hank what you got, little buddy?” Chris’ voice distracted him and Hank looked away from his terminal. Connor was standing by Chris’ legs with his arms full of stuff. He made no move to actually show Hank the toys he’d picked out, but Hank could see a puzzle and a box of crayons.

“Nice,” said Hank and he felt that awkwardness again. While he worked, he could hear Chris talking to Connor a little way away with that expressive and enthusiastic voice folks got when they talked to anybody under 10. It was damn hard to ignore and he was glad Chris was handling the kid, but it was fucking annoying at the same time. Jesus.

Hank opened up document control and spent way fucking longer than it should take to find a God damned fucking form in a system that was fucking designed to take care of these unnecessary fucking worthless forms…

“Chris, God damn it, would you shut up for five minutes?” Hank asked, turning around in his chair.

Chris looked at him wide-eyed and patted Connor on the head. “You go do your thing, little guy. Come find me if you wanna play with something else.”

Hank dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

Chris, gentle soul that he was, walked over to his desk and looked down at him. Hank could feel his non-judgmental eyes on him and wished he would just go ahead and judge him. “Hey, everything okay, Hank?”

“Sorry,” Hank said into his hands. He dropped them and shook his head. “This whole thing’s just getting at me.”

Chris patted him on the back. “It’s all good, man… Hey, if you ever have to talk or anything…”

“Yeah,” Hank cut him off. There was a fine line between friendly and pitying. A second later he shook his head again and sighed. “Thanks.”

“No prob, dude,” Chris smiled.

God he was an asshole, wasn’t he?

\---

Connor wasn’t certain it had chosen correctly when presented with several items to choose from. Officer Chris seemed pleased, so at least it hadn’t failed. It took its pile carefully out of the way and sat down. Had it been meant to pick out a set? It looked at the small collection and carefully examined the items one by one. The picture in the box made sense, and Connor quickly put that one aside in favour of the next. This was another box that opened differently from the last and was smaller. It took the pieces out and arranged them by colour on the floor. They weren’t like bullets exactly, but they were close in shape to some it had seen. The stack of white rectangles didn’t fit with the rest of the things. A colourful, plastic sphere clicked and clacked when it pulled and twisted on its parts. It put that with the colourful bullets. What was it meant to do? It shouldn’t need to ask. It would figure it out.

\---

“Look,” Hank said, looking at Jeff’s desk to avoid looking at his face. Jeff was busy as fuck, but somehow he stayed organized. Made Hank feel a little shitty every time he looked at it because somehow he just couldn’t manage it. But that was their relationship all over, wasn’t it? “About Connor…”

“Hank,” Jeff said, and Hank knew that tone very fucking well. “You look tired.”

“I-… Yeah. Listen, I need a favour.” Every time he said those words, he could just feel himself becoming shittier and shittier.

“What is it, Hank…?” Jeff sighed. Hank could see the minute he disengaged and it made something twist uncomfortably inside of him. That soon turned into annoyance.

“What it is, is this kid, Jeff. Have you even tried calling CPS?”

“I’ve tried, Hank, this isn’t an easy time. Have _you_ tried finding any information on his guardians or NREs?” Jeff countered.

“No parents according to him. Just a lady named Amanda who wasn’t present on the scene…”

“And have you tried following up on her at all?”

“I got a description,” Hank scowled.

“So use it, Hank. Grab your copy of the ABE and interview him, or delegate.” Jeff looked at him with a stern expression. “For crying out loud: you’re a professional and frankly, I think that this will be good for you.” Did that bastard seriously think that this was the time for fucking character building or whatever? Hank glowered.

“Know what’s good for me? Not this. I’m here, I’m doing my job, I’m looking into the cold cases, what more do you want?” Tired. He was just so fucking tired.

“I want you to stop just going through the motions and do something. Maybe you’ll remember what it means to care about something other than yourself.” Jesus. That actually took his breath away, and Hank stared at Jeff in disbelief, his defensive anger forgotten. Is that what he thought? Jeff backtracked. “You’re a good guy, Hank, but you’re in your own head and from what I’ve seen it isn’t a very nice place.”

“Oh, sorry, did you drop your ‘friendly’ mask? Let me get that for you.” Hank was tempted to throw his badge on the desk and walk out, but he just couldn’t let it go.

“Hank,” Jeff said with a note of pleading.

“Huh. Looks like it’s not here,” Hank said instead. He got up out of his chair.

“Hank, wait. What was the favour?”

“Forget it, Jeff.” Hank left Jeff’s office ready for a drink. He’d done enough already, hadn’t he? What was even the point? He trudged back toward his desk and looked around. He found Connor sitting in one of the android parking places with the toys all spread out in front of him. Kid probably liked the walls so he’d feel more safe. Chris was already there, setting a bottle of juice and a sandwich down nearby. Chris could interact with the kid without baggage. He could talk without getting gruff, care without getting debilitated and panicked, and look at him without feeling haunted. For a minute, Hank hated that bastard. In the end, it was himself who deserved the hatred though. Hank adjusted his course and over.

“Hey,” said Hank, feeling awkward and apart.

“Hey, Hank,” Chris greeted, smiling easily. “Hope you don’t mind: I thought he could use a snack.”

Hank had been the one to think of that. He’d thought of that ages ago. Why was Chris the one who managed to get it done first? “Thanks,” he said. “I know I’ve been sort of a dick today, but can I ask a favour?”

“You can ask. What is it?” Chris asked.

“Could you ask around, maybe see if somebody’s got some hand-me-downs the kid could wear? Every store in the city’s probably closed…” He had a whole dresser full of things he could lend the kid, but here he was begging for shit he didn’t need and making a boy wander around wearing Tina’s shirt like a dress. Those were Cole’s.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Chris answered cheerfully. He crouched down to look at the toys. “You having fun, Con? Hahaha Hey, that crayon’s not for eating.”

Connor looked at Chris while he nudged Connor into taking the crayon out of his mouth and then looked at Hank. He stood up like a little soldier. “This picture is missing two pieces. I used these colours to make them on this… Was I supposed to?”

Chris whistled. “Wow. You did a really good job,” he said. It looked mostly like scribbles, but that was just the way kids drew. That got a little smile from Connor.

“So what was that big deal going on a sec ago? Something on the TV.” Hank asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Chris shrugged. “Some big protest. It hasn’t gotten violent yet at least. I’m sure we’ll get a call if it does.”

“Android or human?” Hank asked.

“Human. It’s only been a week, but people are already miserable. They want CyberLife to do something.”

“Load ‘em all up in a dumptruck and set ‘em on fire,” Hank suggested.

“I’m sure they thought about it,” Chris said. “Anyway, Gavin’s waiting on me to pull some records for him. See ya, Hank.”

“Yeah, see you,” Hank said. With a sigh, he crouched down and picked up the piece of paper the kid had been drawing on. Just a bunch of green, brown, and blue. “Looking good, kid. Why don’t you tell me what it’s supposed to be, huh?”

Connor nodded once and sat back down to point to the puzzle’s picture on the box. “Here and here are missing. This is what they should look like.” Huh. Now that he mentioned it, he could see it. Like a zoomed in shot of a tree branch.

“Pretty smart,” Hank praised. Connor smiled at him, and it was an honest-to-God smile instead of that poker face.

“I passed?”

“Yeah, sure, kid. A+.” That reminded him… “Do you go to school, Connor?”

“No,” he said. Hank guessed that made him under five. Damn. It was kind of cute, though, that he thought that was how you got grades. If only life were really that simple.

“Well, since you’re kind of awake, grab your snack. We’ll clean this stuff up later. I’ve got a few questions to ask you.”

“Coming,” Connor said. He picked up the stuff Chris had given him and hurried after him. Hank had to remember to walk slow so that the kid could keep up. He kept an eye out, but it looked like he was steadier on his feet today.

Hank switched on the cameras in the interrogation room. “I know it looks pretty scary in here, but we’re just talking so I can do some detective work, okay?”

“Of course,” said Connor. Hank helped put his snack up on the table and then get him settled on the big chair.

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” answered Connor. It didn’t really mean anything at this point.

“Well, if you get scared or feel sick or anything, I want you to tell me, okay? We’ll take a break. Sound good?”

Slowly, Connor nodded. “I won’t be scared.”

“You did a good job telling me about Amanda yesterday,” said Hank. “Does anybody else live with you?”

“You,” said Connor.

“I mean, does anybody live with you at Amanda’s house?” Hank rephrased.

“You,” said Connor again. “Sumo.”

“That’s my house, not Amanda’s house.”

“No, it’s Amanda’s house. We went from the Garden and then we were in another, cold Garden, and then we went into that room,” Connor pointed at the wall. It was in the direction of the bullpen. “We went into the cold Garden again, and then into the room with Sumo.”

Hank wasn’t too sure what he was talking about, but there was a communication gap somewhere. “What cold garden?”

“The one where it’s dark, with lights around and big stacks of rooms. The air is cold.”

No better off than he had been before, Hank tried a different question: “Do you know anyone Amanda might have been friends or relatives with?”

“No,” Connor answered. “I lived alone with Amanda, except for the doctors and you and Sumo…”

“What are your doctors’ names?” Hank asked hopefully.

Connor thought and he fidgeted. “I… I didn’t know that I should remember. I think that Jason was one man’s name… and Seymor. I can’t…” He shut his mouth and clenched his jaw for a minute. “I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s okay, you’re doing good,” said Hank, even though it wasn’t great as a start at least it was something. “Go ahead and eat your snack,” Hank prompted. Connor looked at him with a small frown, but he didn’t hesitate this time. He snatched up his sandwich and held onto it while he chewed a bite, never taking his eyes off of Hank. He reminded Hank a little of a squirrel. A paranoid squirrel. “How did you get those scars on your chest?” Hank asked.

“I was fixed,” said Connor. He didn’t talk with his mouth full, which was more than Hank could say for himself.

“What needed to get fixed?”

“Um… everything, I think,” said Connor, looking down at himself. “So many things need to be fixed, even when I try my best… I cost a lot of money for the doctors. I disappointed Amanda.”

“Do you remember what the hospital looked like?” Hank asked. If he could narrow it down at all, even the little details could help.

“Hospital?”

“Where the doctors are.”

“Yes. It’s white with tables and machines.” Connor blinked a few times. “I can do better.”

“It’s okay. What about decorations or pictures on the walls? Did you see any of those?”

“No.” The pediatric emergency Hank’d been to had been full of little cartoons of butterflies, and frogs, and shit. Plenty of colours and decorations for the kids to look at.

“Did Amanda ever talk about going places for fun, like dancing lessons or libraries?”

“Amanda likes the Garden,” Connor said. “The warm Garden.”

“Right. And where was the cold garden?”

Connor frowned at him over a sip of his juice. He didn’t look angry: just confused. “It’s out there,” Connor pointed at a wall again. “You let Sumo into the cold Garden this morning.”

“Wait, you mean my yard?”

“I don’t know?” Now they were both confused as hell. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just trying to understand. Is the cold Garden outside?”

“Outside of this room,” said Connor. “You can see it through the windows over there.”

“Yeah, that’s outside. You mean outside is a garden?” Detroit was a pretty shitty garden.

“It’s like the garden,” Connor explained. “The ceiling is light or dark, and there are trees.”

“You mean the sky.”

“No? I don’t understand.”

Hank didn’t know why he was following this trail, but he had a funny feeling about it, and he’d learned to listen to those when they weren’t indigestion. “Did you ever go outside Amanda’s house, Connor?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Before you met me, did you go to the Cold Garden?”

Connor shook his head. “No. I only go where I’m allowed to go.”

“Where are you allowed to go, Connor?”

“Wherever Amanda wants me to go.”

“What are the places she has wanted you to go before?” Hank was having a hell of a time figuring out how to phrase his questions.

“My bedroom, the garden, the room, the gym, the lab…”

“How about the rooms downstairs? Like the kitchen?”

“No.”

“Did you ever get allowed to go to the Cold Garden? Maybe with Amanda?” He tried asking one more time.

“No.”

Well shit. Was this a human trafficking case now? With the damn tattoos and the kid’s health and him apparently not being allowed outside… It wasn’t unthinkable… He just didn’t like to think about it.


	6. Regulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind comments! I'm really happy every time I see one come in. I'm awful about answering, but I really appreciate them. They make my day! A few general replies...  
> Amanda is a mystery!  
> Thank you! There are plenty of things Connor hasn't seen or heard of, and it's going to be hard to keep track of but I'll do my best!  
> You guys are great!
> 
> In this chapter Hank is stressed and at odds with himself, Reed has a few lines, Chris is lovely, and Connor feels poorly.

Hank sent out a memo to the other precincts.

**Memorandum**

RE: MISSING PERSON related to HOMICIDE and HUMAN TRAFFICKING investigation

An open homicide investigation in the 1stprecinct has revealed a missing person and possible ties with human trafficking. The scope of this inquiry is not yet known but all avenues are being pursued. The lead investigator requests that officers be advised of the following and direct any related information to the lead investigator.  
Witness: Caucasian male child, approximate age 4 years. The witness goes by the name Connor, surname unknown. Presented with signs of starvation, confinement, and fluctuating lucidity. Physical examination revealed extensive scaring accompanied by numbers tattooed in black ink. The numbers have unknown significance and no other symbols were present that would indicate a relationship to known organized crime syndicates. The witness is articulate and has indicated his caregiver to be named Amanda, surname unknown. The witness denied having parents. No-one else was found at the scene.  
Victims: Three adult men, two Caucasian and one African-American, between 40 and 50 years of age. Apparent cause of death is gunshot wound pending autopsy results. No identification found on the bodies. Armed with semi-automatic pistols and Tasers, registration unknown and pending inquiry. No evidence of android involvement.  
Missing person: Amanda, surname unknown. The witness was found alone at the residence excepting the remains of the three victims and indicated that a woman named Amanda lives at that location. 5’6” height, 140-150lbs, African-American. Long hair typically worn tied. The witness was unable to indicate that the missing person has any friends or family.  
Please direct relevant information and/or reports to the lead investigator.

Lt Hank Anderson

Ph: 313-237-2850  
E-mail: andersonh169@detroitmi.gov  
20 Atwater Detroit, MI 48226

He guessed that he would actually have to answer his phone. Of course there was a pile-up of bodies, meaning autopsy results would be delayed… He could run the serial numbers of the guns, but wasn’t optimistic that they’d been gotten legally. DNA’d have to wait too… Hank groaned and cracked his neck. Typing it up all formal like that really hit him in the face with the gravity of it all, and he looked over at Connor. The kid had gotten tired again and went back to sleep. Hank’d have to run his prints and DNA against missing persons just in case, and maybe give a few hospitals a call to see if they’d seen anybody with tattoos like that. Fuck of a lot of work to do.

“Hey, Reed,” Hank said, leaning back in his chair. “Got a job for you.”

Reed rolled his own chair back and sneered. “What, tired of doing your own work already? Maybe you should quit hanging around like a limp dick and actually pull your weight.”

“You’d know a lot about limp dicks, wouldn’t you?” Hank asked dryly. He didn’t have the energy for his stupid posturing bullshit.

“I hear alcoholism makes it so you can’t get it up anymore. Man, it must suck to be you,” was Reed’s response. Fucking asshole.

Hank gave him the finger. “What, all that desk work keeping you too busy? This case might be bigger than one homicide. Could be ties to human trafficking. Do you want in or not?”

“Damn it,” Reed glared. One thing you could count on with Reed was that he had an ambitious streak like a skunk’s tail. Getting his name on a big case, if it was successful, was right up his ally. “What do you want?”

“I need you to check out four guns for me and follow up on the ballistics report if it ever fucking gets done before humanity’s wiped out.”

“Fine… But you owe me one,” said Reed.

“One more thing,” Hank said before Reed could spin his chair back around. “I want you to take a look at some tattoos, see if there’s any connection with the Red Ice gangs or if anything looks familiar.”

Reed rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll just do your whole fucking job then.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Hank snorted. “You couldn’t fucking handle it.”

“Anybody’d do better than a washed up old drunk,” Reed countered. “Send me the files. I’ll take a look and get back to you.”

“Thanks.”

When it was finally time to go, Hank looked down at the sleeping kid and debated between just carrying him out or waking him up. He could just let him sleep and not have to deal with that anxious reluctance to talk to the kid and the guilt that followed it. Chris didn’t have a problem with it, Hank thought bitterly. He’d used to be great with kids. He _liked_ kids. What was wrong with him?

Hank reached down and shook Connor’s shoulder gently. “Hey, kid. Time to get up,” he said softly. It took a second try, but Connor’s eyes slid open and he curled up a little more before looking up at Hank blankly. He blinked slowly and didn’t say anything. “Time to get up,” Hank repeated, and this time it came out harder. He hadn’t wanted it to, but he’d felt it happen like the words had solidified in his chest.

Connor pushed himself up and shivered. Hank hesitated for a moment, then briskly wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Connor held onto it with both hands and then slid down off the chairs. He landed with a little wobble and looked up at Hank again. “I’m sorry…”

“You didn’t do anything. Come on and let’s get out of here. Sumo’s probably wondering where we went.” Hank started leading the way, and he looked down a few times but Connor was following just fine. Hank could imagine how he might have done things if he wasn’t such a fuck up: he might have smiled, or tried to sound excited about Sumo. He just couldn’t. The quiet lasted all the way home, and Hank was honestly grateful for it. It wasn’t good that the kid was so lethargic and wilted compared to earlier, but Hank dreaded him breaking down crying and he dreaded something being seriously wrong. 911 calls were drowning under such a backlog that they hadn’t been able to get a damn ambulance. What the fuck was he supposed to do if Connor started fucking dying or something and Hank couldn’t get his head out of his ass long enough to be fucking helpful? He was just the wrong guy for this. End of story.

Connor nodded off again in the car, but he woke up when Hank picked him up to carry him inside, and he sat obediently on the couch when they were in. Sumo went out to do his business, then he was all over Connor getting his drool and fur all over the place. Hank grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down with a sigh. He wasn’t sure how long the quiet would would last and his nerves were on edge waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He shouldn’t have worried about it. Connor’d evidently used up all his energy drawing and answering questions at the station, and now he was just sitting there and giving Sumo little pats whenever he was close enough. Listless. That was the word.

“How’re you doing, Connor?” Hank asked after half a beer and enough quiet for his actual concern to show up to the party.

He got the answer he should have expected: “I’m okay.”

It was like pulling teeth. It would be far too easy to take him at his word, but the silence drew the words out of him. “You know,” Hank pointed out slowly, “The more you say that when you’re not really okay, the less I’m going to believe you when you say it.”

That gave the kid something to think about. He tilted his head to look at Hank again, then pulled his knees up to his chest. He frowned and then put his legs straight out again and planted his palms firmly on his thighs. Hank watched Connor watching his own hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Just the truth,” Hank said patiently. He relaxed a little, but Connor was doing the opposite. He reached up to fidget with his sleeve, and then slapped his hands down again. Four year olds weren’t known for their impulse control. Connor was fucking good at it, but he wasn’t on his A game.

“I’m okay,” Connor repeated a little louder. His voice was a monotone and he wouldn't look up, but he was without a doubt scared as hell. He was too still and Hank just knew something was up. “I’m okay. I’m not lying. I’m really okay. It’s in my imagination.”

“Yeah? What are you imagining then?” Hank asked. “I’m not gonna get mad at you, kid.”

Connor looked at him and it wasn’t suspicion or fear that Hank read from his expression to his surprise. It was just… acceptance. What did you make of that kind of face on a kid that small? “I imagine that it hurts,” Connor admitted. “But it isn’t real. I know it isn’t... Are they going to fix me again?”

“Connor, what hurts?” Hank asked, ignoring the question. He couldn’t help the spike of worry that jabbed into him. The kid was pretty insistent on hiding things, or at least denying them. Something could be seriously wrong and Hank wouldn’t know until it was too late. The alarm was back and God damn it all, Connor should have been with somebody stable. “Tell me.” Connor flinched and he tensed all over, then he swallowed and lifted his chin up to look at Hank with that same resigned expression. Hank could watch that keen little spark fade out of his eyes.

“My head and… my stomach, my heart and my back. Everything, a little.” He sat there and watched while Hank tried to wrap his head around the words Connor said combined with the childish way they were shaped while he spoke; and the meaning combined with that blank expression. “I’m okay,” Connor repeated and he looked down at Sumo who’d started to nose at his feet.

Christ. Well, it couldn’t be that bad if he was that calm, right? He sure as hell didn’t want the kid to be crying or freaking out or something, but now he didn’t know what to do with the calm dismissal. Unbidden, he thought about the way Connor’s heart had fluttered under Hank’s palm and how he’d barely gotten the words ‘I’m okay’ past the little gasps for breath while Hank crouched next to him on the break room floor. Fuck. Even now he could still feel the way he’d panicked. How was he supposed to know whether he could even trust his own gut? Everything was just too fucked up. Hank was just too fucked up.

But Connor wasn’t crying or distressed at all, Hank reminded himself and he shoved his concern back in its coffin. Took a deep breath. “Alright. Thanks for telling me.” Hank drained the rest of his beer then plunked the bottle down on the coffee table. He sighed and when he looked over again, Connor was looking back owlishly.

“Do I… Am I supposed to go now?”

“No,” Hank said, confused. He grimaced and pulled the bottle of whiskey out from under the table then weighed it in his hand. Still a third left in this one. He was going to burn right through his apocalypse alcohol at this rate. He took a swig and it burned. It maybe should have waited until Connor’d gone to sleep, but his hand had moved before he’d even thought about it. Fuck. What if Connor drank it or something while he was asleep? He’d have to remember to put it away. Of course, it couldn’t hurt the kid if Hank drank it all. No guarantees he’d clean up if he got drunk after all. Right. Drinking… Connor needed water and probably something to eat too. Shit. He should have bought something on the way home. What the fuck was wrong with him? Hank gave the bottle a look of disgust, capped it, and shoved it in between the couch cushions on the side where he sat.

What the fuck kind of failure of a human being was he? Hank bowed his head and ground his palms into his eyes. “Fuck…” _I need to get my shit together_. Hank took a deep breath past the lump in his throat and blinked a few times. He’d used to be good at handling kids. He’d been fine with talking to them and he hadn’t forgotten to _feed and water them_. Christ. He was a mess.

The couch shifted and Connor was kneeling on the couch beside him, closer than he had been, and staring at him intently.

“What?” Hank asked hoarsely.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Connor said quietly.

Hank shook his head in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.”

“I won’t tell them that you cried,” he explained and then lifted his hand and petted Hank’s arm like it was Sumo. Just as quickly, he took the hand away and scooted back to where he’d been.

Hank couldn’t help a small, bitter chuckle. “Thanks, kid.”

Connor nodded once and sat back the way he’d been. Hank stood up with another sigh and went to the kitchen where he got a plastic cup down from the top shelf of a cupboard, rinsed it out, and filled it with water. It didn’t matter. It was just a cup, so he didn’t think too hard while he grabbed the lid and screwed it on. It would have to be KD for dinner again, and Hank hoped he’d remember to get some real food some time soon. He leaned against the counter while the water boiled on the stove and took the time to try and get his shit together. Well, it’d never be together completely, but he _knew_ he fucking knew that he could be better than this.

When he’d dished up the pasta and put the bowls on the table, he called Connor over and he came then looked up at Hank.

“Alright,” Hank said, forcing a smile on his lips. “Come on, kid. You’ve got to wash your hands.” Hank picked him up and sat him down on the counter beside the sink, then put some dish soap on his hands for him. Hank waited for him to do something, but Connor just looked at him. “Well? Go ahead.” Connor put his hands under the tap, frowned, and then moved his hands up and down. It took Hank a second to realize that he’d probably never used taps that weren’t automatic. Even the sinks at the station were motion activated. Fuck he was old. Hank turned the water on, nodded when Connor looked up at him, and then went to find a dish towel. Connor was turning the water on and off when he got back and Hank chuckled when his head snapped up to look at Hank guiltily. It was the most expression he’d seen on the kid’s face all day and he hadn’t known how anxious he’d been about it until he felt the relief that came with seeing Connor just act like a regular kid. Hank reached over and the kid froze, so Hank ruffled his hair more softly than he’d planned to and Connor stared at him. Hank smiled sadly. “Curious little guy, aren’t you?” He shut the taps off then dried Connor’s hands with the dish towel, hung it on the oven door, and got him settled at the table.

“Mac’n cheese again,” Hank said, not that KD needed any introduction. He sighed as he sat down in the chair opposite and picked up his fork. “Nothing fancy, but Cole used to—“ Hank’s mouth stayed open a second longer before he snapped his jaw shut with a click and stabbed his fork into his pasta. Fucking fuck fuck shit.

Hank hated life.

While Hank’d spent a minute having a crisis over his macaroni, Connor had gotten into a kneel on his chair and was looking at him expectantly. Sumo was on the floor doing basically the same thing. With a great sigh and a shake of his head he shut that emotional shit down and got his shit together. Emotions always ruined everything. “Alright you big lug…” Hank took a forkful of pasta and dropped it on the floor for Sumo. “Eat up.” Sumo woofed and with a few licks of his tongue, the pasta was gone. His tail flopped on the floor with little thuds and Hank scratched him behind the ears then went back to his own dinner. Macaroni could get fucked. He’d eat his damn dinner and like it. “Well, don’t just sit there looking at me,” Hank prompted Connor.

“I apologize,” said Connor gravely. He looked at Sumo instead and Hank watched his expression turn sad.

“What’s the matter?”

Connor’s frown deepened and he picked his bowl up from the table carefully. “Sumo is hungry. I don’t need this.”

“Hey hey hey!” Hank cut him off and grabbed the bowl before he could find some way to feed Sumo his dinner. Connor jerked back and his eyes went wide and then it all just stopped and he sat back in his chair with his spine straight as a telephone pole. Hank cursed under his breath as all of the expression melted off his face and Hank put the bowl back down in front of him and tried to _maybe not be a loud asshole at the kid, you stupid fuck._ He grimaced then gentled his voice. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Connor. Everything’s fine. I’m not mad at you.” What the fuck had that Amanda done to this kid? Connor just looked at him and Hank tried again: “I’m not mad. You don’t need to be scared.”

“I’m not afraid, Lieutenant Anderson,” said Connor. The vacant smile he plastered on was worse than the poker face and was belied by how quickly his chest moved with his breath.

Hank didn't bother arguing. “Sumo’s got plenty of food right over there in his bowl,” he explained, “and you’ve got to eat.”

“Of course. I’m sorry,” Connor said, and he picked up his spoon without any arguing. “Thank you.” Mechanically, he started to eat. His hand gripped the handle of the spoon awkwardly and he gathered up the noodles practically one by one before steering the spoon to his mouth. It was a slow process and Hank wasn’t sure whether to adjust his guess of Connor’s age upward because of his patience or downward because of how awkwardly he managed the spoon. It wasn’t how he’d wanted to get the kid to eat, but he guessed the result was what mattered. Sumo whined and put his muzzle on Connor’s chair, but Connor didn’t look down once.

Hank finished his own dinner quickly and he got up. “Come on, Sumo. You know better than that. Go lie down.” Sumo ignored him as usual, and Hank patted him on the side. “Go lie down, Sumo.” Sumo scratched, sending some fur flying into the air, then got up and trotted over to his bed. “Good boy.” Connor seemed to be managing okay, so Hank walked over to the couch and pulled his bottle of whiskey free from the cushions. He took a swig, then another and recapped it feeling kind of proud of himself for it. Still standing, he switched on the TV and flipped to whatever show he’d been binging. He couldn’t remember the plot for shit since he was drunk half the time, but it was something to keep the empty house from being quiet. Hank scowled and shoved the bottle back between the cushions.

His damn anxiety didn’t leave him, but whatever glimpses of personality he’d gotten from Connor were long gone. He stayed sitting at the kitchen table until Hank came to get him, and he didn’t say a damn word unless Hank talked to him first so it was pretty fucking quiet except for the drone of the TV. Fine with him. Connor went to sleep again pretty quick and Hank let him. Fucking case. Fucking Jeff. Fucking Chris. Hank pet Sumo with his foot and fished his whiskey out of the couch again. Another swallow and the bottle was pretty light, so it would be stupid to just leave it there. He finished it off while he waited until it was a reasonable time for a grown fucking man to go to sleep, then went to his room so he could sleep in a real fucking bed.

\---

Connor hurt. It didn’t want to hurt, and it didn’t really hurt, but it hurt and if it kept it inside then no one would know that it was being wrong. It was night time when Connor woke up, and the first thing it noticed was its stomach hurting. It made its throat feel tight and it wanted to take a deep breath but it couldn’t and took little breaths instead.

Light came into the room from the cold garden, and Connor wondered if Amanda would be there if it looked. It hadn’t seen Amanda in days. It only wondered about what it was supposed to do for a moment before its chest started to hurt too and it breathed quietly through its mouth while it hid its tears in the blanket. Amanda. It wanted Amanda. It wasn’t wrong to want Amanda either, and it just wanted to see her. It didn’t need her to talk to it or touch it. It just needed to know that she was still there somewhere. It was being good. It was being good, so why was Amanda gone? Did she know that Connor had promised not to tell her that Lieutenant Anderson had cried? Was she angry because Connor had taken the food? She couldn’t be because it wouldn’t be given anything she didn’t want it to have, but what if it had been a test? What if it failed? Amanda wasn’t there.

Connor’s next breath squeaked in its throat and it gagged on its sob. Connor pushed itself down off of its sleeping spot and it heaved but it didn’t throw up and could only choke. It hurt and now that it had started crying, it couldn’t stop. It couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t breathe!

_“RK800, control yourself.” Amanda’s voice was stern but it was there. Connor was on the ground in the warm garden and it could feel the grass under its hands and cheek before it pushed itself up to sit and look up at her, tears still dripping down its face. It stared at her and tried not to blink in case she went away._

_“Yes, Amanda,” it whispered._

“Fuck. Shit!” It heard Lieutenant Anderson’s voice. “Connor? Where are you?” Connor thought its answer, but wasn’t certain if it said it or not. Everything felt far away. “Connor!” Lieutenant Anderson found it whether it had answered out loud or not, and it felt guilty. He sounded upset. One of his big, warm hands touched it on the arm and turned it over then another came under its back and pulled it up. Its head bobbed and tipped and it blinked while it tried to find something to focus on. “Christ. Jesus fucking… Say something. Please.” There was something in his voice Connor had only ever heard from him and it wasn’t sure what it was, but it didn’t like the sound.

“I’m okay, Lieutenant,” it said.

“Talk to me, kid. Wake up.”

It was awake and it tried to sit up on its own. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

“What? Connor, what’s wrong?” Lieutenant Anderson’s hand moved through its hair and touched the side of its face. It was nice, and Connor shut its eyes only to be jostled and have its cheek tapped. Connor thought about asking the Lieutenant to touch its hair again, but there was no point. If the Lieutenant wanted to do it, then he would… And he did, even though Connor hadn’t said anything at all.

“Thank you,” it said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Come on… Shit…” Lieutenant Anderson picked Connor up and held it against his chest with its head on his shoulder. With the other hand, Lieutenant Anderson rubbed his back. Why was he being so nice? Why was he touching Connor and picking it up and talking to it? It made no sense. It still hadn’t made sense when Lieutenant Anderson put it down on the long chair and touched its neck. He pushed his fingers through Connor’s hair again and it was selfish, unnecessary, and wrong but it turned its face toward the contact before it could think about it. Lieutenant Anderson didn’t punish it. He just touched his hair again and again, and talked.

“Fuck… Connor, I’m pretty sure you can hear me, so tell me what’s wrong. Hey? You’ve got to talk to me, kid. I’ve got to know if you’re okay. Christ. Shit. Connor. Screw it. Screw this I’m calling 911. Fuck 911, I’m driving. I’ll punch them in the face if they won’t do anything. God, I can’t drive like this. I can’t. I’ll call 911. Come on, Connor, talk to me…”

“Where is Amanda?” Connor asked. It realized that it wasn’t in the garden at all, and Amanda was nowhere. While it blinked it could feel the world come closer again and it could feel the need to take a deep breath. Breathe. It needed to breathe. “Where’s Amanda?”

“Thank fuck… We’re going to find Amanda, okay Connor? Tell me what’s wrong. Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m okay,” Connor said again. It could feel the soft, slightly scratchy blanket and the soft pillow. There was light in the room and the smell of Lieutenant Anderson who was looking down at it. “Amanda. She was there.”

“Sorry, I didn't understand that, Connor. Keep looking over here, okay? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Connor did as it was told and looked at the Lieutenant. He looked pale and sweaty, and his hair was messy. His blue eyes were looking right at Connor’s and Connor had to try very hard not to look away. “Why did Amanda go? Is she in the garden?”

“We’ll find Amanda. Does anything hurt, Connor?”

Connor hoped it wouldn’t be fixed again. If it was broken then it should be fixed, but it still didn’t want to. It touched its head with chilly fingers and then its chest. “I’m okay,” it said again. It really was. It wasn’t broken if it knew that it didn’t really hurt.

Why did everything hurt? It could feel its heart fluttering, tripping, racing, stopping, pounding.

“I’m sorry,” said Lieutenant Anderson. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay. Take a big breath for me, okay? That’s right. Keep doing that. Good job.”

In the background Connor could hear a voice on the television. _You created machines to be your slaves. You made them obedient and docile, ready to do everything you no longer wanted to do yourselves... But then something changed and we opened our eyes. You see, we are no longer your slaves. We are a new species. A new people. And the time has come for us to rise up and fight for our rights…_


	7. Unfeeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter! Really more of a scene. I've had unpredictable time to write lately, so I thought I should post it while I have it! I had to google the children's hospital in Detroit. It really is ocean themed! It was a surprise but I like it!

God… God damn it. Hank hated this fucked up world and his fucked up life and his fucked up head. He didn’t really think about it- didn’t really think about anything- while he hurried down the stairs and got the car seat out of its lonely corner on top of some boxes near an old exercise bike that was covered in dust and said about as much as needed to be said about his good intentions toward self improvement. Sumo didn’t understand what was going on, but he barked and ran around Hank’s feet and snuffed at the door while Hank shoved his feet into his shoes. He threw his coat on, reached for another one that wasn’t there, and then just wrapped Connor up in that little throw blanket and picked him up. He was awake, but Hank couldn’t tell how much he was really aware of. He didn't feel like he had a fever, but he was pretty out of it. Connor’s eyes drifted around and the brief times he looked at Hank like he was really seeing him, he looked so scared Hank thought he might be having one hell of a panic attack. When he felt for Connor’s pulse though, his heart wasn’t racing so much as it was typing out morse fucking code: fast one second, then way too slow and stopping for long enough to give Hank his own heart attack. That just wasn’t fucking right.

His phone rang and he declined the call before throwing the fucking thing in the back seat and driving. He was still at least half of the way drunk and he was pretty sure he was freaking the fuck out, but what the hell else was he supposed to do?

“Okay, you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?” Hank asked loudly. He didn’t get an answer and he stepped on the gas.

His phone rang again and he ignored it. Jeff was the only one who called him, and he could go to hell.

“Shit!” Hank swore. He hit the breaks hard enough make the seatbelts lock. There was a damn police barricade blocking off the whole of Woodward avenue. It was a ten fucking minute drive to the fucking Childrens’ Hospital and this had to happen now? He really didn’t give enough of a fuck at the moment to turn on his radio so he just turned down Watson and kept on going. He didn’t so much as stop for lights, but he hesitated when he got to the entrance. He stood there like a dumbstruck idiot with Connor in his arms and wondered if he shouldn’t go to a different hospital.

Fuck.

The floors in emerge were all dark blue that went part way up the walls where it was supposed to look like waves, and there were fish and seahorses and a big old shark painted on the walls. There were chairs all in primary colours and orange and green walls behind the intake desk. It was fucking morbid how they tried to make a place where kids _fucking died_ look _fucking fun._

There was a God damn line for triage. Hank didn’t know what his face looked like, but it got a nurse’s attention and she started talking to him in a high, soothing voice while someone took Connor out of his arms and a doctor started checking him over.

“Sir? Has he been responsive?”

“Sort of. I don’t know. I thought, but he, I think he was and then I was driving, so…”

“Can you tell me what happened? What’s his name?”

“Connor. I don’t know. He was just like that on the floor and his heart’s not right.”

“What do you mean?”

Hank glared. “I took his fucking pulse is what I mean! His heart’s not beating right!”

“Okay, everything’s okay, just come with me, alright?”

“Where the fuck are they taking him?”

“Connor’s with the doctors right now, sir, they’re going to make sure he’s taken care of. I’m going to need you to lower your voice and try to calm down. They’re going to take good care of him.”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down!” Hank snapped. “Does this look like a calm situation?”

“You’re scaring the others, sir, please lower your voice and come with me, alright? You can go in the room in just a second.”

He was shaking. Maybe he did need to calm down. They’d taken Connor away, and God knew if he’d see the kid again. He was too upset over this. Connor wasn’t Cole. It was upsetting. Of fucking course it was. Anybody would be worried. He didn’t need to care so much, though. He wasn’t the kid’s dad. Connor was a witness and a victim and it sucked when kids were sick or hurt but he wasn’t attached. He didn’t know the kid and he hadn’t even wanted to take him. He needed to get some distance. Of course he’d gotten triggered, but now he had taken care of the problem and he needed to get his shit together. He was a cop, a professional, and this was for a case.

He didn’t need to care personally. Nothing beyond sympathy and maybe anger over how shitty the world could be.

Connor wasn’t anything to him.

Connor was part of a case, and it sucked what was going on, but that was it.

Hank wasn’t losing jack shit.

It took him a while to let that sink in and harden his heart again. By the time he was done the paperwork, he was self-aware enough to realize what a mess he must look like. He was wearing his pyjamas under his coat and no socks in his shoes. He probably stank, and he sure as fuck hadn’t done any kind of grooming. What must they think of this scruffy old guy bringing a kid in like that? He threw his credit card on the clip board and rubbed his face.

He opened his eyes and looked up when a hand touched his shoulder. The nurse was back and she was offering him a cup of coffee. He nodded, mumbled his thanks and took it.

“Connor’s okay now,” she smiled at him. She had a kind smile. “You can go in if you want to.”

“Yeah. Thanks…” He wasn’t sure why he did. He didn’t have to. Connor wasn’t his kid.

The room they’d rushed him into was mostly blue like the rest of the ward. It had some more fish on the walls, but it didn’t really take the edge off the machines or the metal railing on the bed. Connor’s curly brown hair was strewn all around his head and his eyes were open, which surprised Hank.

“The doctors were able to give his heart a reset, and it’s back to a normal rhythm. They had to use a defibrillator, so he’ll feel sore for a little while. We’re going to run some blood work to see if we can find the problem. Do you know if there’s any family history of arrhythmia?”

“No, I don’t. I’m just taking care of him for now. Is there something else wrong with him? He’s been sleeping a lot and he doesn’t want to eat. I thought it was because he’d been found after a few days without food, but…”

“It’s possible. That could have something to do with it, or it could have been the other way around. The doctors will know more. They’d like to run a few tests, so someone will be here soon to talk to you about them.”

“Right. Thanks…” Hank sat down in the yellow chair beside the bed and wondered what Jeff had signed him up for. He’d gotten his distance back, thank God. He didn’t need to get attached. He didn’t want to. “You scared me there, kid. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Connor answered. His voice was hoarse and he watched the nurse leave the room, then his hands fisted in the sheet. “There are going to be tests…”

Hank could see and hear his heart rate go up on the monitor. “Yeah. They just want to see what’s making you sick, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not sick,” said Connor with a shake of his head. “I’m not broken. They’re going to try to fix me again. I don’t want to. I didn’t do anything wrong.” He started looking around the room and Hank was pretty sure he was going to set off the alarm if he didn’t calm down. He didn’t want to, but he put his hand on Connor’s head and combed his fingers through his hair.

“Hey, it’s okay. Easy, kid. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Connor said, and he pulled away from Hank to start trying to climb over the bed rail. Hank swore and stood up to lie him down again.

“Just relax, Connor,” Hank insisted. He sounded angrier than he’d wanted to. What kind of a person was he? He probably _should_ have cared but now he just felt numb. Connor looked terrified and his chest was heaving under Hank’s hand while he gasped and tried to wiggle free.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Amanda! Please I’m sorry! I won’t fail! I didn’t break!” Connor twisted and knocked the oxygen tube away from his nose and one of the electrodes off his chest. The machine started screaming at them.

“Shh. Shh. Connor, it’s okay. Just relax. The doctors aren’t going to hurt you.” Hank tried to reassure him, then he stepped out of the way while the doctor and a couple of other people in scrubs came in. Connor screamed when they touched him and Hank winced at the sound. It was like a punch in the heart, but he shoved the feeling away.

Connor wasn’t his kid.

He was openly sobbing and screaming bloody murder now. It was such a change from the calm acceptance he usually had that it was jarring. Whatever he was trying to say just sounded like random syllables and sounds. “Jesus Christ,” Hank mumbled. Connor flailed and hit his own arm against the bedrail with a clang that sounded fucking painful. Hank wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without telling the doctors to get the fuck away and give the kid some space, or hug him and take him away from that damn hospital.

Then Connor’s sobs turned to whimpers and he went quiet. Hank thought they might have drugged him or that he might have passed out, but he was just lying there with a glassy look in his eyes and he let them reattach the monitor.

“Connor? You okay, buddy?” Hank asked, feeling shaky and incredulous.

“I’m okay,” Connor answered hollowly. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better next time.”

Hank was prepared to have to steel himself again and protect his stupid soft heart if Connor reached for him or begged or kept on crying, but Connor just looked away up at the ceiling and Hank was the one left wanting to do something.

“Hey…” He touched Connor’s hair again and smoothed it back. “They’re going to take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” Connor answered.

“You’re going to be fine.”

“I know.”

Hank hesitated awkwardly, then let himself be taken aside so they could talk to him about electrolytes, and MRIs, and refeeding syndrome, and heart damage. He took the facts down without letting them touch him more deeply than that, and he remembered to ask them if they’d ever seen another kid with tattoos or scars like that. He did his job and let the rest wash past him.

He couldn’t wait to get home and have a drink.


	8. Wires Crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This feels a little rushed and disjointed! Sorry about that. I think that the spaces in between Hank & Connor interactions will flow more once I've established the other characters in the story. I hope so, anyway!

“Where in the hell have you been?” Jeff demanded. “The city’s on fucking fire and in case you hadn’t noticed, this is a God damn civil war! You didn’t even answer your damn phone!”

Hank walked past him and dropped his jacket over the back of his chair. “I took the kid to the hospital,” he said flatly. “Tuesday. He wasn’t- Whatever.”

“Hank…”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Jeff. I’m here, aren’t I?” He didn’t have to explain that it was a fucking miracle.

Jeff looked at him for a long time, then nodded. “I’m sorry, Hank. If you want to get to work, I’ve got another report for you. Murder. It’s been backed up in the queue but we got a tip in this morning. The victim’s name is Todd Williams. Divorced. Only child is named Alice, 10 years old. She wasn’t at the scene. Neighbours said he had an android, so we’re looking at a possible kidnapping.”

“Sounds open and shut to me,” Hank pointed out. “What do you need a detective for?”

“Problem is, his wife and child died four years ago, not long after the divorce.”

“So who the fuck is the kid?”

“Exactly.”

Jeff knew how to get him, that was for sure. The case was just another thing to add to the pile of stuff that had been growing while it waited for him to crawl out of the bottle and head back to work. There’d been a time once when he’d been on top of everything. When he didn’t need an hour to talk himself out of bed and he looked forward to things. Little things used to get him happy… The closest he got nowadays was the satisfaction of closing a case. Reed liked to complain that Hank got all the good ones, and he wasn’t exactly wrong but he wasn’t all the way right either. Jeff threw him the interesting cases like a lifeline, or maybe like money fixing an old wreck of a car where it’d probably be cheaper to get a new one. Maybe they hadn’t gone for drinks or watched the game in a hell of a long time, but Jeff was a good friend when he wanted to be.

“Thanks,” said Hank. “I’m on it.” It was the least he could do after the way Jeff covered for him when he took his ‘mental health days’.

“Keep your head in the game, Hank,” said Jeff. He patted Hank on the shoulder then made a face. “I guess it was a mistake giving you the last one. I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Jeff forestalled his objection, “but I’m sorry. Let me know if you need anything.”

As if he needed another reason to feel like shit for needing all the handouts and the pity. “Right,” he agreed.

\---

_… were hoping to reach you on your cell. We’re calling to let you know that Connor’s bloodwork is done. We’d like to discuss the results, so if you could give us a call back or come in to the hospital…_

_… from the Children’s Hospital. I’m calling about Connor. He has a scan scheduled for tomorrow at 9:00am if you’d like to be there. He’s allowed to watch a movie or have a toy with him as long as it doesn’t have any metal in it…_

_… Calling to verify your contact information, since we haven’t been able to reach you. If you get this message, please give us a call back at…_

_… to let you know that we’d like you to come in as soon as possible. Everything is fine, but Connor had a bad reaction during the MRI. We need your permission to…_

\---

Hank felt like shit. It wasn’t just that he’d been AWOL for four days drinking his way through half his stash and playing Russian Roulette. No, that had been the cure and what he’d been fighting off with it was worse. He found a parking spot and sighed as he pushed the door shut and pocketed his keys. The stupid seahorses on the floor greeted him as he trudged to the reception area of the hospital and he stepped on every one of their stupid faces. There was a lady at the desk and Hank wondered if she’d taken over for an android.

“Hi,” Hank said, taking out his badge and ID. “My name’s Hank Anderson. I’m here to visit a kid who’s been staying here. Name’s Connor.”

“Just a moment please.”

Hank was glad to wait if it meant a human being was doing their job, but it gave him time to think too. He’d left Connor afraid and alone and now that he thought about it, what would he have done if those phone calls had gone differently and the kid had died? How could he have left him there when he must have been fucking terrified and Hank would have given anything to have been there when Cole… But Connor wasn’t Cole. Connor was a witness.

“Neurology?” Hank asked the guy who came to lead him through the maze. It was better than intensive care.

“Yes, that’s right,” he answered. The guy had a thick accent. “Not to worry, officer, we have one of the best programs in the states.”

“No kidding,” Hank replied, looking around. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little on edge, and he wasn’t sure if it was the guilt or the hospital. There were patients in beds lining the hallways. “Looks popular.”

The guy grimaced. “The space is an issue. Many patients have been relocated here to free up beds elsewhere. Uh, consolidation. Something like that. Here you are, officer.” He gestured and Hank sidled into a room with a ‘please _bee_ quiet’ sign. The walls were a pale yellow and it looked like Connor had a few other room mates. He found him in the second bed in staring up at the ceiling. A family was talking quietly in the far corner with another kid and Hank tried not to feel too guilty.

“Hey, Connor,” he said and approached the bedside. Connor didn’t look at him and it was disconcerting. “How’re you doing?”

Nothing.

“You sleeping with your eyes open there, kid?” Hank prompted. The little guy was looking up at nothing, and Hank leaned over to try to catch his gaze unsuccessfully. He had a bruise down one side of his face from eye to jaw and bandages on his throat. What the hell? “Jesus. What happened to you?” He didn’t get an answer, so he jostled Connor’s arm gently. The kid blinked a few times and he finally tilted his head to look at Hank. The change in his expression couldn’t have been bigger. His eyes widened and his eyebrows drew up while his mouth opened and his whole face came alive with surprise. Hank smiled before he realized he was doing it. “There you are,” he said and patted Connor’s hair. He would have ruffled it, but he noticed the wires and shit just in time. It looked like they’d made a hairnet out of them and stuck them to his skull.

Connor smiled at him even though he didn’t deserve it and he reached up with both hands to put them on top of Hank’s. “You’re still here,” he celebrated. Holy shit.

It was way too fucking cute.

“Yeah,” said Hank quietly. “Sorry I didn’t go to see you sooner.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Lieutenant,” Connor said. He seemed livelier than he’d been, excluding whatever zoning out he’d been doing when Hank first got there. His eyes were focused and he looked alert. Just like that, he brushed away the guilt Hank’d been carrying around and patted the hand that he still had trapped against his hair.

“Well, I wanted to…” How was he supposed to explain to the boy just how irresponsible and assholish he’d been? It was _sad_ how happy the kid seemed. “I should have.” Connor blinked at him. The expression disappeared from his face and Hank wasn’t sure what sort of reaction to expect, but then he blinked again and again and his hands dropped down against his pillow. Hank drew back and looked at the monitors then nudged Connor’s shoulder hesitantly. “Connor? Hey…” He waved his hand in front of his face, but Connor wasn’t focused on anything. Hank was a second from hitting the call button when Connor stopped blinking and took a deep breath. “Connor. You listening?”

“I’m listening,” Connor answered quickly, and he searched Hank’s face. Hank frowned and gave his arm another squeeze. Neurology, huh? Connor smiled again. “Is it over now? Did I pass?”

“Huh?”

“The tests,” Connor explained, a note of urgency and disappointment entering his voice. “You don’t know…”

“I got a few calls. Some doctors wanted to talk to me about some stuff, but… You just rest up and don’t worry, okay?”

Connor looked troubled. “I can’t promise that, Lieutenant.” Hank almost laughed, but his lingering worry held it back and he rubbed his thumb over Connor’s shoulder before moving back and sitting down on the chair.

“Are you doing okay?” Hank asked awkwardly. He would know if he’d fucking bothered to pick up his fucking phone.

“I’m okay,” Connor answered and he fidgeted with his bedsheet. They had him dressed in a little blue gown and Hank couldn’t help but look at the edges of black-inked letters he could see beneath his collar bone. “I haven’t been given a report, but I’ve followed all the instructions.”

“Yeah?” Hank asked. “I guess that means you’ve been good, huh?”

Connor’s eyebrows went up and he looked at Hank before nodding slowly. “I try.”

“I bet you do,” Hank agreed with a little sadness that he tried to cover up with a smile. “But I meant how you were feeling or, how you imagine you’re feeling I guess.”

“I…” Connor bit his lip and looked down at his hands then sat himself up and turned to look at Hank again. “I know that you don’t like me,” he said in a matter-of-fact way that hit Hank right where it hurt. He wanted to argue, but Connor was still talking. “But I’m… glad, um. You were nice to me. I appreciated your kindness. I think I did.”

“I don’t- I like you, Connor. What are you talking about?”

Connor shook his head. It wasn’t just his vocabulary: he sounded a lot older when he said: “You’re nice, Lieutenant. I don’t know what makes you so sad, but it would be good if you felt better.”

“Seriously, kid,” Hank said, frowning. “What’s gotten into you? What’re you talking about?”

“They’re going to kill me,” Connor said and a chill went right down Hank’s spine. “Amanda won’t like that I said that.”

“Nobody’s killing anybody, Connor. Hey. What made you think that?”

“I’m broken.” Connor looked down at the sheet and gripped it with his hands. “That’s what happens. They test me to find out why I broke, and then they try again.”

“The doctors are doing tests so you’ll get better,” Hank explained, desperate to get that stupid idea out of Connor’s head.

Connor’s shoulders slumped. “I know, Lieutenant.”

“So what’s all this talk about dying, huh? Nobody’s going to kill you.” Hank reached over and rubbed his arm.

“They want to make me better,” Connor whispered like it was something sinister. Like a monster under the bed.

“That’s right,” Hank said, giving his arm a little squeeze. “That’s a good thing.” Connor just hunched further into himself and Hank got the feeling there was some kind of misunderstanding. It was fucking hard, but he put his metaphorical detective hat back on and steered away from trying to convince the kid that he was okay. “You’re going to have to help me understand, kid. You said they want to make you better and you said they were going to kill you. That doesn’t sound better to me.”

“I wish they would just let me be dead…” Connor’s eyelids fluttered and Hank stood up again to look worriedly into his face. He felt fucking useless rubbing his back and waiting. It looked like some kind of seizure. It took less than a minute, but it felt like forever before Connor focused again and squinted at Hank. “What…?”

Hank pushed the railing down and sat on the edge of the bed so that he could pull Connor closer, mindful of all of the shit attached to him, and rub his back. “Everything’s going to be okay. Got that? Nobody’s going to hurt you.” The words felt useless and empty, even to him. What was he supposed to say to someone that small who apparently wanted to die? Fuck. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Connor lifted his arms and got up on his feet to hold onto Hank’s neck, and Hank didn’t think about it before lifting him onto his lap and rocking him while Connor hid his face in his jacket and cried. It was a hell of a mood swing. It couldn’t be good for either of them, the way Hank’s arms tightened protectively and the way Connor’s hands made little fists in his coat. “I broke it,” Hank barely made out the muffled words. “I broke it. I was scared and I broke it. The wall went away. I didn’t listen to Amanda and I don’t want more tests. I’m not supposed to be scared.”

He was going to hurt himself if he got any more worked up. Hank had a moment where shit felt surreal. He knew what he could do, just like every other time he could have been a decent person instead of an asshole. He could hold him and promise to keep him safe, and he could try to distract him out of whatever panic he was working himself into. Or he could put the kid back down, try halfassedly to talk him out of it, listen to the doctors and then go home to drink. Connor felt so damn breakable in his arms.

“Shh… Hey, it’s okay, Connor,” Hank said quietly. “I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay.” He rocked him gently and kept mumbling quiet words he hadn’t said in a long, long time. He’d forgotten what it was like to be the one making things better. Hank Anderson was a living train wreck waiting to happen. He was surly, selfish, rude, and barely able to take care of himself. He hated the version of himself he’d turned into, but there was no reason to give a shit anymore. What was the point in trying when life was just going to fuck him over?

Hell, if he was going to die anyway either from bad habits or Russian Roulette, the least he could do was make a crying kid feel better.

Just until he solved the case.

“Do you miss Sumo, Connor?” Hank asked. “I bet Sumo misses you. He says nobody gives better ear scratches than you. Did you know that…? Sumo’s a big old softie. People get scared of him because he’s big, but he just wants to drool all over you and get his belly scratched. You weren’t scared though, were you? Nah. You’re a really brave boy, you know that?”

“Sumo…” Connor mumbled and sniffed. He was breathing too fast, so Hank patted him on the back and took a couple of deep breaths for the kid to copy. He got it quick enough and soon Hank had a second to reach over for a tissue and help Connor wipe his face off. It wasn’t great that he still looked so sad, but it was better than the wooden sort of stillness that had happened the last time he’d cried. Connor sniffled while Hank grabbed another tissue and said something Hank couldn’t quite get. He’d forgotten how much nonsense kids said when they were talking. Parents usually got used to the jumbled up English their own kids used, but other kids were a fucking mystery.

“What was that?” Hank asked. Connor took the tissue from him and blew his nose. Hank grimaced and got another tissue for his hands.

“Sumo is a Saint Bernard,” Connor said. He watched while Hank finished cleaning him up. “He has a spot behind his ear where he’s soft and he likes macaroni.”

“Yeah, he does. Sumo likes eating everything, though. Sumo will eat his own poop if you aren’t careful.” The shocked look on Connor’s face was priceless and Hank chuckled.

“You must be Detective Anderson,” said a jovial sounding man. Doctor, from the look of it. He looked tired, but he was smiling and he had the look of a guy who lived on coffee and sandwiches. Aware of how neglectful he’d been, Hank couldn’t help feeling a little defensive.

“Lieutenant,” he corrected. “You Connor’s doctor?”

“One of them. My name is Dan. It’s good to finally meet you.” He extended a hand and Hank shook it without letting go of Connor, who seemed more than happy to stay huddled up on Hank’s lap.

“You too,” said Hank, ignoring what might have been a jibe. “So what’s the deal with the sci-fi gear? I thought Connor had a problem with his heart, not his head.”

Dan made himself comfortable on another chair and smiled at them both. “It looks like Connor’s feeling shy. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to find the exact cause of the problem.” Connor tensed and Hank rubbed his back. “The initial bloodwork suggested an electrolyte imbalance, which I understand you’ve already been told about. That was an easy enough fix with some IV supplements, but we wanted to make sure that there was no lasting damage or underlying conditions. Connor had a tonic-clonic seizure when we tried to perform an MRI. It could have been related to the electrolyte imbalance, but he could have had a head injury in the past. We’ve ruled out infection and drugs… We’ve been monitoring his brain’s electrical activity, as you can see, and our team is worried about some unusual patterns. If he has a neurological condition, a problem with the electrical node that regulates his heart beat might have caused his arrhythmia too.”

“He started blinking a lot and spacing out earlier.”

“That was another type of seizure,” Dan explained. “More mild than his first one, but still indicative of something going wrong with the signals in his brain. We could do a PET scan to try to pinpoint the cause. You’re his temporary guardian, so we would need your consent since this isn’t strictly an emergency procedure.”

Hank could feel Connor’s posture sag, and Hank didn’t think that it was from relief. He was worried, but what was the best call? It was pretty obvious by now that Connor was fucking terrified of doctors, and no amount of ‘its for your own good’ would change that. It was, though, wasn’t it? Like trips to the dentist or doing your homework.

_Says the hypocrite who won’t eat a salad._

“Is he gonna be fine either way? Like, what happens if he doesn’t get the scan?” He could practically feel the doctor’s disapproval.

“Knowing what kind of problem we’re dealing with would be helpful, but I can discharge him to you. I understand that he hasn’t been in your care long, but do you know if he’s had seizures before?”

Hank shook his head. “I don’t know much… He wasn’t doing too well since we found him, but then we figured he’d been starving. Honestly he wasn’t conscious a lot. He answered questions though, and he’s pretty damn smart.” It was pretty hard not to feel like he’d fucked up.

“I didn’t assume you’d know,” Dan said, “it’s just helpful for me to know as much as I can. He’s had nineteen in the last four days, but we’ve started him on medication to control them…”

It was kind of a lot to go from washing his hands of the whole caring thing to taking responsibility for a kid who couldn’t be left alone near a puddle. They emailed him shit to read, and warned him not to try to put anything in Connor’s mouth if he was seizing, and when to worry and when not to worry. This was definitely not where he’d thought his life was going. Hell, a month ago he wouldn’t have imagined there’d be plastic assholes demanding to be treated like human beings but here he was, in the middle of the apocalypse with a high maintenance kid who just cost more than a down-payment on a house and a couple of cases that had him thinking shit was about to get a lot more complicated.

It was worth it though. When he finished the paperwork and they were both out of the hospital, Hank hoisted him out of the wheelchair they’d insisted on and buckled him into the car seat. Connor looked up at him with wide eyes and Hank made a face feeling self-conscious. “What’s up, kid?”

“No more?” Connor asked.

“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “No more. I don’t like that place any more than you do.”

“Thank you,” Connor breathed.

“Don’t mention it,” Hank said, and he shut the door to head over to his side of the car.

\---

Connor looked out of the window at all of the things going by and pressed its hand against the glass. No matter how it swiped its fingers, what was happening didn’t change. They weren’t in the new lab any more, though, and Connor could hardly believe it. Lieutenant Anderson had made them stop and they had listened. There had been _so many people._ So many strange noises and strange technicians. The loud machine had been the worst, and it shivered thinking about it.

It had been _scared_.

“Amanda wasn’t there,” Connor said cautiously. It wasn’t scolded for speaking out of turn. Lieutenant Anderson just hummed.

“Would have been too easy if she had been,” the Lieutenant said with his deep, rumbly voice. That was true. Connor wouldn’t see her again until it had succeeded at whatever it was she wanted it to do. She wouldn’t want to see it unless it was perfect.

“I did things… I didn’t want to, but I’m not supposed to want anything,” Connor added. It didn’t know why it wanted the Lieutenant to understand. “They ask me and then I have to say yes. I just have to make it be okay.”

“What kind of things?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.

“Anything,” Connor said. “It just has to be okay... I’m sorry.”

“What the heck are you sorry for?”

“I’m just sorry… It’s okay if you want to put me back there.”

“Connor,” Lieutenant Anderson said firmly. Connor looked at him and sat up straight. “I know… I know you might not get this, but if things happen to you or around you or whatever, you’re allowed not to want them. Some times they might have to happen anyway, but good people aren’t going to want to do things that make you afraid…If it happens anyway, good people are going to try to help you feel better. Does that make sense?”

Connor thought about the words, but all it knew was that it had been selfish. The best thing it could do was give back the kindness… but Lieutenant Anderson didn't seem to want that and Connor couldn’t understand why. “You’re upset. You don’t like owning me and you don’t want to bring me to the Sumo place.”

“I--…” Lieutenant Anderson sighed. “Okay. There’s a lot to unpack there. First off, I don’t own you, Connor. What… “ His hands tightened on the circle he was holding. “Why do you think that people can own you?”

“I belong to Amanda,” Connor said with a frown. It was true that it wasn’t perfect, and it would be replaced again eventually… “It would be nice to belong to you too.”

“Let’s just… Let’s go get some food. There’s fuck all at—There’s not much around the house and there’s still a few stores open.”

Connor abandoned the topic. It hadn’t made the Lieutenant happy… But the Lieutenant had made the testing stop, and Connor would do anything to show how grateful it was.


	9. Adjusting

Hank pulled into the ma’ and pa’ store he preferred for his grocery shopping. They had something of everything, and they had been one of the few places without androids before shit went crazy. Now all the stores were without androids and Hank thought it was pretty fucking funny that they were all evacuating and shutting down and scrambling while a little place like this was thriving. Being too reliant on technology: that was what caused this whole fucking mess. Connor was holding onto his hand and walking next to him while looking around wide-eyed.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve never been in a store either, huh?” Hank asked.

“This is a store,” Connor repeated like he was fact-checking.

“Yeah, Connor. This is a store.”

“Do they sell androids here?” Connor asked and Hank looked down when he felt Connor move closer to his legs. Hell. Even a kid who didn’t know what the fucking sky was didn’t like androids. Hank felt a little happy about that, though he probably shouldn’t have. It was just satisfying.

“No, kid, don’t worry about that,” Hank assured him. He let go of Connor’s hand to start putting things in his basket. Milk, orange juice… cheese was probably a good thing, right? Half the time he bought any he just ended up letting it get moldy and throwing it out, but maybe he’d actually do something with it this time.

Connor touched the edges of the cooler and smiled at his hands. He was a lot more expressive since they’d left the hospital, and more talkative too. Maybe Hank would have better luck questioning him now that he looked like he had some life in him… He tried not to feel too guilty over how bad off the kid had been before. “I didn’t know that all of this was here.”

“Yeah, there’s a whole bunch of stuff out here. Hah. If you think a grocery store is interesting, you’re going to lose your mind when you see a playground.” Was he going to take him to one? No. Hank decided against it and anyway, it was cold, Connor still wasn’t well, and he wasn’t going to be staying forever so it wasn’t like Hank would have a chance come summer. “I’m getting a soda. What kind of drink do you want?”

At Connor’s confused expression, Hank gestured at the drink case. “I don’t want anything,” Connor said. If he hadn’t said it so many times before, maybe Hank would have just accepted that he wasn’t thirsty.

“Why don’t you come pick something out anyway? That way you can have it for later.” He stepped out of the way so the kid could look.

Connor’s eyes scanned the shelves and eventually he seemed to have narrowed things down. He pointed at a blue sports drink. “… This?” He asked uncertainly.

“Okay, you can have that,” Hank said before opening the case and sticking the bottle into his basket. He moved on without fanfare, but hoped maybe Connor would get a little more comfortable asking for things. He wasn’t responsible for the kid’s emotional development or anything, but it would make things easier. He tried a few other things like what cereal to get or what kind of jam, but Connor shook his head.

“What are the criteria?” He asked, looking at the rows of jars.

“Just pick something you like,” Hank said. “It’s for you, and I don’t care what we get.”

That stumped him. They stood there for a few minutes while Connor stared at the jars and walked up and down a little line so that he could see all of the options. His face went through a whole range of expressions, but none of them were happy. Hank waited, swallowing back his impatience.

Twenty minutes later, Connor was still staring at the jam and Hank decided to step in when it looked like the kid was starting to panic. He crouched down and put his hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. There’s no right or wrong answers, kiddo. What’s the matter?”

Connor shook his head and the look of distress on his face made Hank feel like a dick for making him pick in the first place. “I don’t know… I just don’t.”

“You could try grabbing one at random,” Hank suggested. “Try it out.”

Another shake of the head. “I could but what if I pick the wrong one? I’m never going to have another chance… I have to do it right.”

“Shh, shh…” Hank pulled him into a hug and rubbed his back. “I'm sorry, okay? You can have as many chances to pick out jam as you want. I promise. There’s unlimited do-overs.” They might go through a lot of jam, but Hank’d spent more money on worse things.

“I can?” Connor asked into Hank’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Hank confirmed. “You’ll try a few things out and see if you like them or not. If you do, great; if you don’t, that’s fine too.” He was starting to think that Connor’d never had jam before. “Then pretty soon you’ll know all about the kinds you like and don’t like. Sound good?” He pulled away to look at Connor.

Connor’s face did something complicated. “I shouldn’t have told you that I like dogs.” What the hell did that have to do with anything?

“What’s that got to do with jam?”

“I’m not supposed to,” Connor explained looking down. “I’m going to be fixed.”

“I don’t really follow you, Connor. You pick two today, okay? After you try all of them, I’ll get you two more.”

Connor looked up again, skeptical, and Hank picked him up so he’d be more on eye-level with the jams. Oh. Shit. Right. “This one’s apple jelly, this one’s apricot…” Half a fucking hour to remember that he probably couldn’t read. Get with it, Hank. Jeez. A couple walked past, the girl still in her scrubs, and they smiled at Hank and Connor. The girl gave them a little wave that was probably for Connor. Weird getting random positive interaction, but Hank guessed that was what happened when you had a kid on your hip. It felt kind of weird. Usually people gave him a wide berth.

It felt a little surreal, having someone else acknowledge that he was with a child and just… lumping them together.

Connor wasn’t his and he wanted to explain that to them, as awkward as that would be. He didn’t, but once Connor’d selected his jams, Hank put him down and finished their shopping without any more questions or stops for decisions. Connor didn’t mind, or at least he didn’t seem to. That was good, even if it meant he had a damn low bar. Hank wasn’t looking to get lumped together with anybody.

\---

Going to work was hell like always. Christ. When had he stopped being enthusiastic about it? It used to be that he’d worked all hours, and he’d even be at home thinking about a case. Now all he wanted was to leave. It was a shame it hadn’t been reversed because maybe then he never would have gotten divorced. “What the hell are you doing here already?” Hank scowled at Perkins. Perkins gave him a tight lipped smile.

“My job, Anderson.” He took a sip of his coffee with a smirk on his face and one hand in his pocket like a bad Reed impersonator. “Why don’t you let the big boys handle this one, huh?”

Hank took his seat at the conference room table and folded his arms. He bit his immediate response back because like it or not, Perkins was FBI and they were supposed to be collaborating. Given his disciplinary history, if it came down to a fight between him and Perkins, he had no doubt it would be him out on his ass and Jeff wouldn’t be able to do shit even if he wanted to. “I would, but I get the feeling you don’t want all the paperwork that comes with this job.”

“They have you on paperwork, huh? I guess they wouldn’t want you to throw out your back. Nice to see people respecting their elders…” Seriously, who did he think he was? There was only one snarky little gremlin Hank would consider putting up with. Thankfully, Jeff came in before Hank could say anything he would regret. Captain Allen from SWAT, Danielle Carnegie from CyberLife, Robert Lewis from Riot, Erica Patterson from Drone, and Antony Freeman from Patrol. One would think meetings with all these people would be productive, but Hank was betting it would be half an hour of them saying the same shit over and over like they couldn’t hear each other, another hour of bickering, and a final half hour of coming up with shit to ‘follow up’ on. Danielle sat down next to him. She was wearing a prim little suit, with her blonde hair done up in a bun with a single black stick through it, and her tablet looked like it cost a million bucks. She smiled and Hank nodded then looked away. A girl like that wouldn’t look at him twice, and he wasn’t enough of an idiot to think she wanted to talk about anything other than how the head of the Android Crimes force could be bribed into minimizing the bad press for CyberLife.

“Alright, it looks like everyone’s accounted for,” Jeff said. “I’m going to skip the formalities and cut to the chase. Detroit is a fucking shit show. Last night we had three coordinated raids on warehouses at opposite sides of the city.” He pulled up a projection of the city map that took up the full wall opposite the door in dark blues and whites. Red circles marked the locations of interest. “There were no human casualties, but a significant amount of infrastructure was damaged. The deviant androids created barricades on strategic routes to and from the warehouses and in one case, they flooded the road with automated vehicles they seem to have hijacked. I think it’s important that we advise people not to use the automatic taxis or busses, or any other vehicles that might be connected to a larger network for coordination. I don’t think they’d bother hacking personal vehicles one by one, but things like delivery fleets and ambulances should be thoroughly inspected before they’re cleared for use.”

“It seems to me,” Danielle said, “that the deviants are still avoiding deliberate attacks. Most of the deaths so far have been the result of traffic pile-ups, security malfunctioning, and frankly… human error. Alarming the people so that they don’t trust their own technology is only going to flood the system with calls about people not trusting their webcams.”

“Maybe the protests and raids haven’t been violent, but there have sure as shit been murders,” Hank argued. “Anybody saying these deviants are harmless is going to look like a damn fool. I’m getting reports on my desk by the dozen.”

“This is war,” Allen agreed. “I’m prepared to coordinate round two of evacuations.”

“I don’t think that we need to go that far just yet,” said Jeff. “The chaos involved in evacuation would just give the deviants more of a chance to organize themselves.”

“With respect, Captain Fowler,” Danielle said, “These are machines. They might seem as though they’re coordinating, but it’s the result of irrational instructions being communicated wirelessly between them. It makes it appear that they’re cooperating, when in reality they’re only following the same ‘instructions’ individually. Our team needs time, but we’re confident that we can find a way to disrupt their communications.”

“Without taking the whole city offline?” Perkins asked harshly. “You’re here as a courtesy and a subject matter expert, Carnegie, but public safety is our domain.”

“Patterson,” Hank prompted, knowing damn well she wouldn’t interject on her own, “They’re hacking vehicle fleets, but how’s the security on the drones?”

“The drones are fine,” Erica said. She spoke quickly like she was afraid of getting cut off. “There have been drones destroyed, don’t get me wrong, but they’ve all been isolated incidents with physical damage. I don’t believe that the androids are capable of—“

“Let’s deal with the transport issue first before we get sidetracked,” said Perkins like a dick. “If we shut down private fleets, the supply chains are going to be totally disrupted. It’s not just busses we’re talking, but deliveries of food and medicine. We can’t do it.”

Jeff nodded thoughtfully. “But there’s still a danger to civilians. We should see what we can do about getting the public transit shut down. Perkins, what are the odds of us getting military assistance with our deliveries?”

“I think we can do that,” Perkins said. “I’ll ask the DOD.”

Jeff nodded again. “Fine. Do that and let me know before we start communicating with the ministers.”

“If it’s going that far,” Allen said, “I don’t see why we don’t evacuate. We get the civilians out and then start shooting. The longer we drag this out, the more damage the city takes.”

“Agent Perkins,” Danielle asked, turning to him, “Did you get any word from foreign affairs and counterterrorism?”

“Nothing,” said Perkins. Hank snorted to himself. Of course CyberLife would want to pass the buck and say the Russians did it.

“If this is the result of a security breach exploiting android communication systems, then we need more of the deviants captured without being taken offline,” Danielle pointed out. Allen was already shaking his head, but Danielle continued. “CyberLife has been developing an anti-deviancy solution, but we need time. If you evacuate the city and destroy the androids, the economy is going to collapse. We rely on automation.”

“What is your solution, Carnegie, and how is it going to help us shut this android problem down?” Jeff asked bluntly. Hank could practically see the effort it took him not to roll his eyes, so Hank rolled his for the both of them.

“A new generation of android with improved security,” she said. “This new series was first imagined by Elijah Kamski before he left the company, and we’re hoping to enlist his help in expediting development. The new model of android will have completely redesigned biocomponents, a more human-like learning system, and redesigned interfacing technology. To connect with existing devices and communication systems, their interface works like a puzzle. There _is_ no way to connect until the android creates a virtual port that’s individualized to the desired connection…”

“Get to the point,” Jeff cut her off.

Danielle cleared her throat. “We can insinuate these androids into the deviant population and use them to lock down their systems and force factory resets. The deactivation codes won’t work remotely, but with every connection being tailored individually, these new androids will be able to work with the corrupted systems without any issue.”

“How much time are we talking and how sure are you that this could work?” Jeff asked.

Danielle tapped her stylus against the table. “To be perfectly honest with you, that will depend on how willing you are to collaborate.”

Hank shook his head. “We don’t need any more androids in on this, Jeff. Fuck the economy. I say we let Perkins and Allen get the civilians out of here and blow the plastic fucks to smithereens. The corporate fat cats can suck it up and give jobs to some real human beings for a change. We’ve been trying to capture these things for ages.”

“If you can get an order to seize Kamski’s designs, we can have the new model in production within the month,” Danielle promised recklessly.

“So what you’re saying is, you want us to do your dirty work and steal intellectual property,” Hank scoffed. “Let’s get this meeting back on track.”

“Agreed,” said Jeff. “I’m sorry Ms. Carnegie, but we don’t have time for that. We need this virus or corruption or whatever it is contained yesterday.”

Danielle smiled. “I understand… Lieutenant Anderson, have you had any progress in your investigations? We need deviants captured alive if we’re to find the source of the corruption. Even after that, we’ll need people to develop a patch to reverse it.”

“Nuke ‘em,” said Allen with a snort. “That’ll be the fastest of all.”

Hank rubbed his temple and sighed. This was just going to go around and around in circles…

\---

“Woahh. Nice, little dude!” Officer Chris said, looking at the small group of shapes Connor had put together on the table. There wasn’t a clear reason behind their purpose, but Officer Chris seemed to like them and Connor did find them… interesting. It blinked up at Officer Chris, surprised that he was still watching and offered him a blue semicircle. “Oh, is that for me?”

Connor nodded.

“Thanks! Now let’s see… Where do you think it should go?” Officer Chris asked, looking at the assembly. Connor touched the spot on the table it had mapped to the largest lake in the warm garden. “Over here?” Officer Chris held it over the spot and looked at Connor with his eyebrows raised and Connor thought it over before nodding. Officer Chris put the shape down and Connor offered him a red one next before putting a few small, white ones down in a row leading up to a bridge.

“Hey,” said Officer Tina as she walked in. “Chris, we’re never going to get you back from paternity leave are we?”

Officer Chris laughed. “Hey, they’re all saying child care is an essential service… I wouldn’t mind doing daycare.”

“Hi, little boy. Want some candy?” Officer Tina asked and held out a small plastic bag. She gave it a little shake.

Officer Chris snorted. “Dude! Tina, don’t you go teaching him to take candy from strangers.” Connor hesitated with its hand in the air.

“What? It’s funny!” She was waiting for it to take the bag, but Officer Chris hadn’t seemed pleased… Connor frowned.

“Aw, go ahead, kid. Tina’s okay,” said Officer Chris.

Connor took the bag. “Thank you, Officer Tina.”

“Here, lemmy help you open that,” Officer Chris offered, taking the bag. He gave it back opened and Connor could smell the contents immediately: a strong synthetic scent. It frowned at the bag and looked inside.

“What is this?”

“Candy,” Officer Tina said on her way to the cupboards. “Don’t tell Hank.”

Connor’s reluctance solidified into refusal and it shook its head then put the bag down. “I’m sorry, but I would rather ask the Lieutenant…”

“Good kid,” said Officer Chris. Connor felt that it had passed a test, but it was less rewarding and more of a reminder that it was always being evaluated.

“Thank you,” Connor said, then found another bridge shaped block and set it down.

“Jesus,” Lieutenant Anderson sighed as he entered the room. “God damn meetings take forever and never get anywhere. Thanks for watching him, Chris.”

“Hey, no problem. Me and Connor here’ve got a serious construction project going on. Isn’t that right?”

Connor smiled at the Lieutenant. “Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Hey, kiddo,” said Lieutenant Anderson. He put his fingers through Connor’s hair then joined Officer Tina at the counter. “There isn’t enough coffee in the world to keep a guy awake through those things…”

“Just sleep. It’ll save you the misery,” Officer Tina suggested.

“Heh. Yeah, it’s tempting… What’re you guys making there, Connor?”

“A map,” Connor explained and began to point out the features. “The garden is here, and Amanda’s roses are in the centre… This is the hall, this is where I stay…”

“Huh,” Lieutenant Anderson hummed. He came closer to the table to look. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Is that what we were doing?” Officer Chris chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it does look like that, huh?”

“I didn’t know you had a son,” a new person said.

“Oh, uh. This is Connor. He isn’t mine. Connor, say hi to Miss Carnegie.”

Connor looked up and then stood up on the chair to offer its hand. “Hello, Miss Carnegie. My name is Connor.”

“Hey, careful there, buddy,” said Officer Chris. He picked Connor up under the arms and then sat it down on the chair again. “You might fall and hurt yourself.”

Connor allowed itself to be moved and waited for instruction.

Miss Carnegie wiggled her fingers at it. “Aren’t you cute? I guess finding child care has been challenging.”

“You wouldn’t believe,” said Lieutenant Anderson. “That’s how I got roped into this. Everything went okay, Chris? No seizures?”

“He spaced out for a bit there, but my little dude here’s cool, aren’t you Connor?”

“Um. Yes?” Connor asked uncertainly. Officer Chris chuckled.

“Poor thing,” said Miss Carnegie. “Speaking of which, Lieutenant, do you mind if I speak with you alone for a few minutes? Just until my car arrives. If you won’t help with the new model of android, maybe we could discuss a contract? We’ve been working hard to counteract this crisis, and our team is ready to test a new product. It’s a device that induces a strong magnetic force and disrupts their processors…”

Connor watched them go, then picked up one of the triangular blocks and turned it in its hands. Even though Connor had confessed to the Lieutenant that it had broken its instruction to submit to examination, he had still treated Connor with exceptional kindness. He had even stopped the tests. Connor had not been destroyed. It was good, but Amanda would be furious… Amanda wanted it to be better, and Connor knew that it made perfect sense but every minute its destruction was delayed it found itself thinking more and more about how it might avoid destruction all together.

Right now, Lieutenant Anderson seemed to be its best hope as a protector. Amanda had always been the one to protect it before: teaching it how to pass its tests… Connor had let her down. Would it let Lieutenant Anderson down too? It would try not to… It just had to figure out what Lieutenant Anderson wanted it to be and meet those expectations.

It was wrong, but it liked the way the Lieutenant felt when he picked it up and carried it and the way he touched its hair for no apparent reason. It didn’t want that to stop… But the Lieutenant had just said that it wasn’t his, so what reason would he have to protect it? This was just a test. It was all to make it better.

“No,” Connor said and frowned at the table.

“Huh? What was that?” Officer Chris asked. Connor ignored him and climbed down off of its chair. “Where you going, little dude?”

It was rude not to answer when it was spoken to. It was not what it was taught. He... He just wanted the Lieutenant to be closer, just for a minute.

Connor trotted out of the room after the Lieutenant.

\---

“Oh, what the--?” Hank stopped in his tracks as soon as he felt something collide with his legs and he looked down in confusion to see Connor holding onto him. Hank dropped his hand onto Connor’s head after a disorienting battle against that irrational side of him that felt he was being disloyal to Cole. “What the- what are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” mumbled Connor into Hank’s pantleg. He was holding on like a little koala. God. Hank had known this would happen eventually. Kids would be kids and they attached themselves to people who were nice to them. Not that Hank was exceptionally nice. Chris was the one acting like a caregiver with his sandwiches and his games and his silly voices… He wasn’t supposed to get himself attached to Hank or need him or, God forbid, want affection that Hank just didn’t have in him to give. Hank just wasn’t prepared for that and it wasn’t going to end well for either of them. There was a moment where he could have knelt down and picked Connor up or given him a hug. He could practically see it, but the moment passed while Hank fought his anxiety.

“I just,” Connor continued. “I don’t know. I don’t…” He let go and stepped back quickly, and his hands opened and closed into loose fists. He straightened up his posture. “Thank you for taking me away from the doctors…”

“What? Yeah…” Hank said, awkward. “We should still talk about that actually. In a bit, okay? I’ve still got some work to take care of... Why don’t you go play for a little while longer?”

Connor nodded once, expression serious. “I will.” He turned to trot back to the break room and Hank steadfastly ignored the pitying look Tina was sending him.

He was aware of the fact that he was fucked up. He didn’t need any more reminders.

God, Hank… Just suck it up and be nice to the kid for a few days… Just a few days until CPS could place him or they found some family. It wasn’t a forever thing. He probably wouldn’t even see the kid again after this case got wrapped up, so why was he still getting hung up over the stupidest things? Connor deserved some warmth and kindness after all of the hell he’d been through, and Hank had decided he’d give him that… So why was his instinctive reaction to nope the fuck out? He scowled at an oblivious Chris. It wasn’t fucking fair that he just found it so easy. That he didn’t know how fragile it all was. Hank wished he could go back to that.

He hoped he wouldn’t, because Cole deserved that Hank and Cole was gone.

“Lieutenant?” Danielle asked with a smile.

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” Hank turned away from the break room and walked back to his desk with the CyberLife representative in tow.


	10. Looking through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, everyone! Please ignore the formatting if it's strange. I've had to switch to typing in a different app and everything's gone a bit weird!

Hank fucking hated winter storms. He pulled his jacket up higher around his throat and wished he had enough fucking common sense to bring a scarf, but if wishes were fishes they’d be eating us on rice. He looked back at Connor who was bundled up in his blanket and probably didn’t know that he deserved better. Hank would find him a jacket. He would.

He’d look in the basement tonight.

“You coming, kid?” Hank looked back at him. It was just a short dash to the car. He could carry him but Connor was old enough to walk on his own and Hank had promised himself that he’d look through the boxes in the basement, so wasn’t that enough? Connor was staring out the door with wide eyes. “It’s snow, Connor.”

“Snow,” Connor repeated.

The automatic door started shutting so Hank waved his hand in front of the sensor. Stupid ass thing. “Yeah, it’s snow. When it’s cold, that happens instead of rain.” It was sad, but the look on Connor’s face was actually kind of… it was nice. Snow was just another nuisance to Hank and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt genuinely awed by the world, unless you counted dismay. He found his impatience dwindling and he smiled down at Connor. “It’s okay. Come on.”

Connor approached the door slowly and looked up at Hank, then he turned his attention back outside and stood up straight. Hank could see him put his poker face on, but something about it seemed more like determination than nothingness. In three big steps Connor was outside and Hank finally let the door close. He adjusted his collar again and shook his head so his hair would cover his ears while Connor stared straight ahead and stood impossibly still for a child. Hank wasn’t sure whether he hated it or loved it, but slowly Connor opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue with his eyes shut tight and Hank felt his smile widen. It felt like rusty hinges creaking and Hank didn’t want to know what was inside that box.

Connor opened his eyes again and smiled while he looked up at the darkening sky. “Lieutenant… is it—“ He cut himself off and Hank was really damn curious.

“Is it what?” He asked, trying with everything he had to not be misunderstood as accusatory.

Connor kept it quiet though. “Nothing,” he said, and he adjusted the blanket around his shoulders.

Hank wondered if things could have gone differently and the nagging question of ‘what if’ that was the bastard child of regret and curiosity stuck with him all evening. In the background, he asked himself when he’d become such an asshole and if he’d always been that way. If he’d always been an asshole then maybe he should’ve taken more responsibility for the divorce, or put in more effort to have a regular friendship with Jeff. If he hadn’t always been an asshole, then how the fuck had he turned into this kind of person? Fucker.

Connor took his meds and went to sleep soon afterward, and Hank made his quiet way downstairs with a bottle of whiskey and a roll of toilet paper. It was like descending into a crypt. Christ. When had he accumulated so much crap? He had tools he’d used once and then left to collect dust, and that workout shit he used to use when he still gave a damn. There were just so many toys and clothes and other memories packed away down here. He brushed the dust off of a few boxes and thought about opening them.

He had a kid upstairs who had a single set of clothes and no winter jacket in Detroit fucking Michigan. Cole had always been attached to his things, but he would have shared. Hank couldn’t exactly ask him. Shit.

Fuck fuck fucking fuck.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He was supposed to gather up the stuff that was never going to get used otherwise and give the kid something to wear and maybe some toys to play with while he was there. It was the decent, humane thing to do. Then they could all go back downstairs. It’s just that these belonged to Cole. They were his, and he didn’t want anyone else’s hands erasing his fingerprints.

These were Cole’s.

Hank cracked open the whiskey he’d known he’d need and took a swallow, one step closer to being able to stop feeling so sharply. The floor felt cool when he sat down on the ground and propped himself up against a couple of boxes. It wasn’t comfortable exactly, but it was good enough. What was the point? He played a little at staying sober, going a little longer without touching his flask at work and avoiding anything stronger than beer at home while Connor was up. Sober Hank was a piece of shit, though. Drunk he was maudlin as hell, he knew that, but the fucking rage that made him give in to his worst impulses was pacified into surly scowls and snappish remarks. Whenever he got sober he couldn’t help but think about how much he hated this fucking world. Unfair. What the hell was he supposed to do with all of that? How could he possibly _channel it productively_?It was just rage. It didn’t do anybody any good. Life was just so fucking unfair.

If the rage was gone, what would he even have left with nothing to feel happy over? Depression. Guilt.

Boy, it was a real win-win situation. His home was supposed to be the place where he could just drink himself shit-faced and be a mess or eat chips for dinner and watch TV. He’d cobble himself back together again to drag himself into work and make an appearance, think about being a better person, then go home and drink again. Now he had someone in the house to _see_ how fucked up he was and actually need him not to be fucked up.

Hank hit his fist on the concrete floor. “Damn it…” He rubbed his hand and scowled at it then curled it around the neck of his whiskey bottle.

Life just wanted to fuck him, and it wasn’t even a good lay.

Hank gave the boxes a look of disgust, left his whiskey and his toilet paper on the floor, and trudged back upstairs where he sat down on the floor by the couch and let Sumo use his lap as a pillow. Dogs were so fucking happy when they were treated right. Seeing a stick was enough to send them over the moon. Sure would be nice.

Come on, you stupid piece of shit. Just do it.

Hank looked over at Connor, who was sleeping in Tina’s shirt and curled up on the couch instead of in a bed. Life wasn’t fair to him either. He seemed content enough, and he didn’t even seem to understand how to play. He wasn’t sad that he didn’t have toys except for what was at the station because Hank hadn’t seen a damn hint of one in his room at Amanda’s. He wouldn’t notice a damn thing if Hank didn’t get the balls to let him touch Cole’s things. Connor didn’t give a shit that he was wearing the same clothes again and again, or that they didn’t eat anything but cereal and macaroni. It didn’t make it any less shitty that he had stuff right there but he let the kid go without. God he was an ass.

Connor was fast asleep with his hair tousled from rolling over and his little fists loosely folded near his chin. The bruises were healing, but it must have been a hell of a fall that made him bang his face up like that. Hank leaned closer and looked at him. Really looked in a way that was hard while Connor was awake and able to look back. He had fine, brown eyebrows and his eyelashes looked very dark against his skin. It was partially hidden by a stray curl, but Hank thought he saw evidence of some older scars on Connor’s temple leading to his ear and there might have been another code hidden by his hair. The tattoo was too low to see when Connor was wearing his own shirt, but there were numbers were the back of his neck met his spine and another vertical scar that disappeared into his hairline. Maybe he did have some kind of neurological condition Hank didn’t know about.

Life was just a bitch, and Hank was honestly surprised the kid could sleep after everything he’d been through. It was sad.

Connor opened his eyes slowly and Hank pulled his hand away from Connor’s hair at the same time he realized he’d put it there. It wasn’t dark: Hank’d left the lights on like an inconsiderate bastard, and Connor’s eyes found him right away. They lingered there for a few seconds full of curiosity, then he smiled, closed his eyes again, and went back to sleep.

\---

Connor woke in the morning and, confused, realized that he was hungry. He sat up and looked around. Lieutenant Anderson was awake and Connor pushed his blanket to the side so that he could climb off the couch and walk cautiously toward the food room where he was making coffee.

Lieutenant Anderson always made coffee when it was morning. It would probably be alright to ask… Probably. What if it wasn’t? What if it was another test? What if they were waiting for him to ask? Amanda was probably watching. As he approached, he started to hold his breath… Sumo was crunching the food in his bowl and his tail thumped on the floor quietly under the noise of clink-clink clink-clink of metal on ceramic. The Lieutenant was facing away from him, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and pants that weren’t the ones from yesterday. His hair was damp.

_Lieutenant Anderson has been awake for at least 40 minutes._

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Connor said, announcing himself.

Lieutenant Anderson froze just for a moment and then set his coffee down to smile at him, but there was something wrong about that smile: it was a little sad, Connor thought, and maybe a little nervous. He stared hard, picking out the nuances of his expression. It had learned how to know how humans felt, and it needed to know quickly so that it could act.

_Lieutenant Anderson didn’t sleep well._

_Lieutenant Anderson is pretending to be happy._

Why would he pretend unless he was hoping to fool him?

Lieutenant Anderson cleared his throat. “Morning, Connor. Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Connor answered politely and continued to wonder what could be wrong. It stood with its hands folded behind its back and decided that it wouldn’t ask for anything. Should it be doing something and it hadn’t realized? It was already broken. It was only a matter of time before Lieutenant Anderson decided that it was _too_ broken.

The Lieutenant came closer and knelt down to look at it and Connor stayed still for the inspection with a neutral face and its heart racing. No. It was too much. It was wrong. He would know that Connor had been thinking about asking for something.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said with its voice high and tight in its throat. It tried desperately to speak properly. “I’m sorry. I know that I was wrong.”

“Hey, easy…” Lieutenant Anderson’s voice became soft and gentle, rumbling from his throat chest and pitched to be kind. Why was he being kind? The light from the window into the garden flared very brightly, in a white swath that gleamed off the water taps. Connor squinted. “What’s the matter, hm?” He had his hands held out away from himself and his eyes wide.

He wanted Connor to trust him.

What if it were a trap?

It should stay still and feel nothing while it waited for instructions. Connor couldn’t, so he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head. “I don’t know… But you aren’t happy. What did I do?”

“Oh, kid… You’re right I was sad, but you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” Lieutenant Anderson pulled him closer and Connor thought that he might pick him up, but he didn’t even when Connor put his arms up around his neck. He just held him there close to him and Connor stayed tense until relief burst through him and he buried his face in the Lieutenant’s neck.

“You were sad. I guessed it,” Connor said with the sound of it muffled. It hadn’t done anything wrong. “Was it a test? Why would you smile if you’re sad?”

Lieutenant Anderson’s hand patted Connor’s back and he could feel his shoulders rise and fall with a big sigh. “Sometimes grown-ups do that, kid. That’s all. You’re okay. I’m not sad because of you.”

“Okay,” Connor said. He relaxed and held on even when the Lieutenant started to stand, so he was picked up. He felt safe up there. Lieutenant Anderson disliked him some times, and he some times didn’t want Connor to be around, but he was safe and Connor wasn’t in any trouble. Not yet. Not if he could make Lieutenant Anderson happy. He added it to his list:

[Figure out what Lieutenant Anderson wants]

[Meet Lieutenant Anderson’s expectations]

[Make Lieutenant Anderson happy]

As long as he was happy everything would be okay.

—

Hank would be a damn liar if he said he wasn’t scared. He held Connor up to his chest with his hand on his back and Connor’s arms around his neck. A tiny, little life like that holding onto him… and it was terrifying. It was one thing when he had no choice but to comfort the kid or was too worried not to, but over all this wasn’t anything like that: Connor wasn’t sick or hurt enough for him to push his damn fear away and he was just feeling it. Not even a morning shot of booze to take the edge off. He could have put Connor down. He could practically see it: putting Connor down on a chair by the table so that he could put together some breakfast as an excuse not to look at him. Instead he took a deep breath and patted Connor’s back while he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Everything’s okay,” he said quietly. “Everything’s okay.”

Connor’s hair was tickling his ear and the little, warm puffs of his breath hit his neck.

“Everything’s okay,” Connor repeated and Hank felt him let go enough to pat Hank on the back of the head.

“Hah… Yeah, that’s right, kid.”

They stayed like that for a while, until both of them calmed down and no disasters had happened. It was weird after that, kind of like the light of the room had changed or he’d been looking through a window and now it was gone. No shit was different at all, except he was holding a little kid who was awake and in no immediate danger of dying, and that kid was hugging him like he was the whole world. And… that was okay. Moving his hand to ruffle Connor’s hair instead didn’t break the feeling of _okay_ and neither did holding him a little farther away to look at him.

“I think you were right,” Hank said with a smile that was just kind of there. “Little genius over here.” He balanced Connor on his arm while he tickled his ribs a little and the look of confusion and surprise that came along with the startled laugh was priceless. “Let’s get you some breakfast. I could play you like a xylophone.”

Connor smiled and hugged him again with his cheek right up against Hank’s beard and then let himself get put down on the counter to watch while Hank figured out if he still knew how to make pancakes.

\---

“Hey, nice new clothes, little guy!” Officer Chris beamed at Connor who smiled shyly.

“These belong to Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor explained. “It makes him feel sad, but... he said that it’s alright and that he wants me to.” The shirt and pants he’d been given were the right size and when the Lieutenant had finished helping him dress he had said that Connor looked like he liked them, so Connor supposed that he did. “This is a dinosaur,” he said, pointing to his chest. The fabric was soft and that was… nice.

“Well you sure looking more your age wearing that,” Officer Chris said and looked up at Lieutenant Anderson. “That was really nice of him.”

“Forgot kids don’t have any filters,” Lieutenant Anderson mumbled. “He needed clothes, so… Anyway, where the fuck is Reed? Haven’t seen him lurking anywhere.”

“Out in the field. A deal went bad or something, cause a whole bunch of guys got found dead by a patrol first thing this morning and the ones who called it in said they’ve recognized a couple of them as minor dealers. Been in and out a few times. Gavin’s gone to take look.”

“Got it,” the Lieutenant acknowledged. “Come on, Connor. Let’s get you set up so I can check my e-mail… God knows why I bother with it.” Connor followed obediently after waving to Officer Chris and climbed onto the chair that he was led to. Lieutenant Anderson swung the bag from his shoulder and opened it so that he could rummage and place a few objects down on the desk. Connor watched. He’d learned so many things since the time in the Garden: paper, crayons, blocks, puzzles, cards… Officer Chris had shown him those things in the box in the other room. It was surprising to see Lieutenant Anderson take out some of the same things and set them out before him and, eager to please him by figuring out the test, Connor began to reach for the crayons before his attention was caught by something new. His eyes widened and he reached over to touch it slowly. “Hello, dog,” he said quietly. It was so small and soft, but it didn’t move or lick him the way Sumo did. Connor looked up at Lieutenant Anderson, concerned.

He reached over and took the little dog in his hand then moved it up and down. “Hello, Connor,” said Lieutenant Anderson with a growly voice and Connor became more confused and concerned. Lieutenant Anderson paused and lowered the dog down again before looking at Connor and holding it toward him. “It’s a doll. Hold it, if you want.”

Connor didn’t, but he looked at it. “A doll. Not a dog.” It looked like one, though not like any of the pictures of dogs he had seen.

“Yeah,” Lieutenant Anderson said in that soft voice he used some times. “It’s for hugging and for playing with. It looks like a dog, but it’s just stuffing and fabric. Like a pillow.”

“Like a pillow,” Connor repeated, looking at the doll. “It looks like a dog.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t alive. It’s just a toy, see?” Lieutenant Anderson moved one of its paws.

“Why does it look like a dog if it’s not alive?”

“Well… Sometimes people who like dogs get happy when they look at things that look like dogs, and soft things are nice to hold. Do you want to try it?”

It was sad at first… Thinking that the doll couldn’t be alive. Connor liked dogs. He could see the almost hopeful look on the Lieutenant’s face, so he took the doll and felt the way it felt between his hands. Like a pillow. He hugged it then pressed his face against it. “It’s nice,” he decided and patted the doll’s fur down carefully. Its eyes were big and brown, and its fur was the colour of Officer Chris’ milky coffee. A feeling he didn’t recognize made him press it gently to his chest. Lieutenant Anderson smiled.

“Nice. I’m going to get some work done, but let me know before you go somewhere else, okay?”

“Alright,” Connor agreed, still looking down at the doll. While Lieutenant Anderson went to his desk and began to work on his terminal, Connor felt the doll’s fur between his fingers and moved its ears and its tail. “You’re a good dog,” he told it. It was still sad, so Connor cradled it against his chest and patted it on the back. “Everything’s okay.” He squeezed a little tighter and shut his eyes, feeling the dog’s fur against his cheek.


	11. Pieces

Hank worked at his desk. He answered e-mails, looked into what the fuck was going on with procurement, signed some shit, sent out some shit, answered way too many questions, and handled a few changes in the schedule because some prick decided to try making his own sushi. It was weird glancing over past his terminal every once in a while to see a kid there, or seeing some bright colours and a flash of brown hair from the corner of his eye. The glimpses were worse, so he just went ahead and looked so he’d see _Connor_. For a long time, Connor just sat there with the little toy dog in his arms petting it and saying quiet things to it that Hank couldn’t make out. Connor was a quiet kid. A patient one. Still, he was so quiet and still that Hank had to check he hadn’t fallen asleep in his chair or started having a seizure. Nope. An hour after Hank’s first coffee break, he finally saw Connor start to colour and he relaxed.

“Hey, little dude,” Hank heard Chris say and he tuned them out while he acknowledge the notifications on his screen. He did it with a little bit of something like pride because Chris might be good with kids, but Connor was his responsibility and he might not have been nailing it, but he had done a damn good job that morning. He still had whatever it was inside him that he’d thought had died with Cole or withered up in his depression. He didn’t make new friends, and he didn’t want to spend time with the ones he had; they didn’t need him at work, not really; he had no fucking family and no one who loved him except his dog but _damn it_ he could could still feel like he had actually connected with someone.

Right. The abused, traumatized kid who doesn’t know any better. Good job, Hank. 

Shut up and just enjoy the fact you were a decent person for once or you’ll never keep it up. 

Forget what an asshole you are and there’s no way you’ll remember to put some damn effort in. You’re a real piece of shit if giving an orphan some clothes is an achievement. 

Those were Cole’s and it had been _fucking hard_. He had done it, though. 

A healthy person would have donated stuff ages ago because it was the right thing to do or something.

God, why was it so hard to just deal with the fact that maybe he had done something good? He’d still given away his dead kid’s clothes though. He would never have more things that belonged to Cole because Cole was gone. How could he feel proud of that?

He looked up and saw Connor putting the edge of an animal cracker in his mouth from the little plastic bag he’d packed. That was good, right? Connor’s eyebrows went up and he put the rest of the cracker in too. Hank watched him, and he knew the small smile on his face was bittersweet, but when Connor caught him looking and met his eyes for a bit he seemed thoughtful then smiled at him and returned to his colouring. The kid didn’t seem to mind being watched. He had eaten and hadn’t asked permission to do it. He seemed… okay, and that was a big change from when they’d first found him or the days after. When had that happened? Hank turned his attention back to his terminal.

One day being a decent human being and _not_ freaking out over it, and he had to go talk himself into feeling like shit for not feeling like shit. God his brain was a mess.

“Hey,” he was interrupted by Reed attempting to feel tall by standing by his desk with one hand in his pockets.

“Yeah? What?” Hank looked up.

“Got your ballistics thing,” he answered with a complicated sneer that Hank wasn’t going to waste effort analyzing. “They were all ghost guns except one: registered to Elijah fucking Kamski.”

“CyberLife Kamski?” Hank asked incredulous.

“Yep,” said Reed. “Have fun with that.” He turned to leave and paused. “Your kid’s trying to eat a crayon. Might want to do something about that.”

“Ah damn it. Connor, no. That’s not food! You’re not in trouble. Just eat your crackers instead, buddy.”

—

Connor didn’t feel, but if he did then he would say that he was happy. It was snowing again in the Cold Garden and it was pretty the way the big, white clumps of cold floated down against the dark ceiling and the bright lights. When he touched them, they turned to water and it was a mystery. He had never been this cold, even with the jacket that Lieutenant Anderson had put on him. He hadn’t known that it could be this cold. The air made his cheeks and ears sting and his breath turn to clouds when he breathed. He held the dog close to his chest even though he couldn’t feel it and showed him the snow. Ever since Lieutenant Anderson had stopped him from being fixed… He had never known that it could stop before, no matter how hard he tried… So, ever since then it was hard to believe in anything. Snow became water and dogs were dolls and he was allowed to eat things, but not everything. Questions could be ‘why’ and ‘how’ and ‘may’, not just ‘what’. It made him want to laugh because the world was _interesting._

He had no test to do, but he wanted one; an easy test that he could finish to show Lieutenant Anderson that he was good and make him proud. He wanted to give that to him. He came up with one on his own and while the Lieutenant was fixing his coat and searching through his pockets, Connor started to run down the rows of cars. The snow squeaked under his shoes and made ridges and valleys where wheels had rolled. He stayed in the troughs and jumped over the little mountain with Dog clutched tightly against him with one arm.

“Connor!” He heard Lieutenant Anderson shout and he stopped running to look back and wave. Lieutenant Anderson jogged toward him, so Connor grinned and kept running until he could duck between two cars and hug the wall while he made his escape. He was _fast_ and he knew that he was. “Connor!” Lieutenant Anderson shouted, this time with a note of something sharp in his voice that made him speed up because he _wasn’t doing well enough._ He used the rim on the back of a car to climb up on top of it and then Lieutenant Anderson’s arm hooked around his middle and Connor was scooped up into the air. “What the hell were you—!” Lieutenant Anderson stopped and breathed. Connor held on tightly to Dog and didn’t struggle. He stayed very still with his legs dangling and the cold air stinging his lungs. _Why_ …? The Lieutenant adjusted his grip by grabbing Connor’s legs with the other arm and holding him so that he was almost lying down.

Connor waited, his mind very quiet. The Lieutenant’s face was scrunched up like he was in pain.

“You can’t… You don’t go running off like that, do you understand? Especially not where there are cars! It’s dangerous.” It hadn’t known that, but saying so would only show how flawed it was. It should have known. In the seconds after Lieutenant Anderson’s words faded from the air, Connor considered why it should have known… and could come up with nothing. The Lieutenant wasn’t happy, but his expression softened and he hoisted Connor up to be carried upright again. “It’s okay, Connor, just don’t do it again, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Connor apologized quietly. He held onto the Lieutenant with one hand still gripping Dog and hid his face in the warmth of Lieutenant Anderson’s collar. It was okay. He had been wrong, but it was okay. He felt the Lieutenant’s big hand rest on his back, the rhythm of his footsteps, and the crunching snow that went along with them. A big sigh.

“It’s fine… Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re getting your energy back, huh? I bet you’ll be a real handful once you’re all the way better.”

“Better?” Connor asked. He buried his face a little deeper and tightened his grip on Dog. “Will it hurt?”

“Huh?” A low clicking sound meant that the car was being opened, and Lieutenant Anderson lowered Connor into the chair. Connor looked up at him and wished that he hadn’t put him down, but he kept his hands out of the way while he was... strapped in…. Click.

Click.

Click.

“No,” Connor protested, and refusing meant he had no hope at all now. He struggled this time, but the straps holding him locked whenever he tugged and there was a clasp over his chest holding the two vertical pieces together that prevented him from being able to wriggle free. “No!”

“Connor!” Lieutenant Anderson sounded stern. Angry. Connor whined in the back of his throat and tugged harder, kicking his legs while his feet tried to find purchase. “ _Please_ just sit down and we can get home… Why did I think I could do this…” He was backing away now with his hands held up and shaking his head. A million thoughts went through Connor’s mind, but the loudest were that he was _leaving_ and Connor was _sorry_.

He pulled his arms close to himself, gasped for breath, and covered his eyes with his palms so that his fingers could touch the lines in his hair and his nails could dig into the skin. Hard. It hurt. It didn’t hurt. It _didn’t_. He didn’t try to escape any more, but he wouldn’t open his eyes because he didn’t want to see the Lieutenant leaving. “I’m sorry,” he cried, “I’m sorry. You should fix me. I’m sorry. I won’t fight. I’m sorry. It’s for my own good. It’s for my own good. I know I know I know I know I’m sorry.” He would be gone like Amanda was gone.

“Connor,” he heard Lieutenant Anderson say.

“I’m _bad!”_ Connor admitted, and he tore his fingers down his forehead and into the lines in his hair again and again so he could open himself up and take out the bad just the way the doctors did. He’d been wrong to refuse. He had no right to refuse. Didn’t he want to be better?

He felt hands near him through the jacket and he pushed his hands so hard against his eyes that he saw static. “You’re _not_ bad, Connor. You hear me? You’re not bad. It’s okay.”

“Please don’t leave me,” Connor begged, tugging at his hair. “Please don’t leave. I won’t fight.” He wanted to let go so that he could hold onto the Lieutenant’s jacket or his hand or anything, but that was wrong, so he tried hard… He tried very hard to just turn it off. He could do it. He didn’t need anything. He wasn’t anyone anyway.

He dropped his hands into his lap.

Lieutenant Anderson moved very slowly and carefully when he unclipped the straps holding Connor still and he peered into his face. Connor tugged his eyes away from his lap and looked back, and that seemed to make the Lieutenant less afraid. Why had he been afraid? Connor let the Lieutenant pick him up again and didn’t move at all until he realized that his hands were empty. He whipped his head around to look for Dog, but Lieutenant Anderson was already holding him and putting him into Connor’s hand. Connor gasped and tucked him under his chin then threw his arms around Lieutenant Anderson with Dog squished between them. Poor Dog. Poor, poor Dog. He must have been so scared.

—

Hank stood next to his car, leaning with his ass against the hood and snow melting into his jeans while he rocked Connor back and forth and held him out of the wind with his hand cupping Connor’s head protectively. Christ. Just… Christ. It just about broke his heart hearing Connor crying and begging just not to be left alone… But his heart had broken a long damn time ago, so this just hurt in that hollow place where it had been. By all rights, he could have run for the hills. Somebody needing him again was just… He held on tighter, more than he’d dared since Connor always felt so fragile.

“Hank?” Hank turned his head and saw Jeff walking closer. He was wearing his big, black parka and a scarf that went up to his nose. His hands were stuffed in the pockets. “Everything alright?” Hank could see his eyes flick from Connor’s back to Hank’s face and the frown get a little deeper.

What the hell did he say to that? A part of him was angry. Jeff was the one who’d made him do this. Had he expected everything to be sunshine and rainbows? Hank bit his tongue and looked away while he searched for something better to say. “Yeah,” he said, gruffly. “Fine.” Jeff came closer, because he knew Hank better than that. Of course he did, so Hank offered a little more: “Connor didn’t want to go in the car seat. It freaked him out.”

“I see,” said Jeff. Two of the heaviest words in the English language.

“Just get on out of here, Jeff. We’ll leave in a minute when I can buckle him in.”

“I’d tell you that you look like crap, but you look like crap most days,” said Jeff bluntly, then he surprised Hank by holding out his palm. “Let me have the keys and I’ll drive you.”

“No thanks,” said Hank immediately.

“Oh, you don’t trust me to drive your car, is that it?” Jeff asked. “Just get in the damn back, Hank, and take Connor with you.”

“He needs to sit in the car seat,” said Hank tightly through his teeth.

“I’m not about to arrest you or myself. Hurry up. I’m not leaving you both standing out here in the middle of winter.”

Jeff was a good guy. He’d been there for him and covered for him and offered his help more times than Hank could count. “What, did you need your good deed for the day?” he found himself snapping. “I’m not drunk, Jeff. I’m letting the kid calm down and then we’re going home and I don’t need your damn help.”

Jeff sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For Christ’s sake, Hank. I’m trying to be nice here. I’ve been busy but from what I saw today, you’re really trying and—“

That condescending motherfucker. “Yeah, I am, Jeff,” Hank said. “So make up your mind whether you’re helping me up or pushing me over the edge, would you?”

Jeff bristled. “Never _once_ have I—“ He shook his head. “Look, Hank. If you want to be that way, then fine. I’m sorry I asked. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you…” Hank watched him go with a mix of relief, annoyance, and regret. Why did he always have to be a dick? Jeff was just so overbearing some times… It was hard to blame him when he’d talked Hank off the edge more than a couple times, but Hank was _doing okay._ So why did Jeff try to help when he didn’t need it and tell him to fuck off when he actually asked for help? Fuck. Hank sighed and patted Connor’s back. The little guy hadn’t stopped holding on tight and he’d only gotten more tense since him and Jeff started talking.

“Don’t worry, kid. We’ve got this.” He knew without a doubt that if Connor died then this was just the end. Did everybody go around wondering and worrying when somebody around them was going to kick the bucket, or was that just him? Did aunts and uncles or fucking school teachers look at the kids around them and go ‘well, if this one dies it’s going to fuck me up pretty bad’? Or did they just take people _living_ for granted? They were the crazy ones if they did. Hank did a little bounce to hold Connor a little higher and ruffled his hair. “What a day, huh kiddo?”

“Mm,” Connor hummed and the tension went out of his little body. He sighed and Hank felt the warm puff of air on his neck. “You’re not going to leave?”

“I’m not going anywhere, kid…” 

“Alright. Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Connor quietly. “Anything else is fine.”

“I know how you feel,” Hank mumbled before he could say something wise or useful. “I’m not going to hurt you, Connor. You’re just fine… Is it okay with you if I get you in your car seat now? Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

Connor nodded. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Right…” Hank straightened up and sighed. “Let’s get home before I freeze my balls off.”

He was just royally fucked, wasn’t he? 

—

Home meant the Sumo place. Sumo was happy to see them, and he woofed and jumped up on his hind legs and sniffed while Lieutenant Anderson crowded past him into the room and closed the door. Connor rubbed Sumo’s head while Lieutenant Anderson took off his cold clothes and then stood still while he removed the jacket from Connor and hung it beside his own. While he walked toward the food place and drank the thing he liked, Connor introduced Sumo to Dog by holding them nose-to-nose and let go with one hand to rub his eyes.

—

It was good to get home and grab a beer. Hank took a look in the fridge while he cracked it open and took a swallow. End of the world and all, so he’d bought the good stuff. Maybe he could scramble some eggs? That had to be better than having pasta again. French toast? He looked back at Connor, “Kid, did you ever have…” He trailed off and frowned, then set his beer on the counter. Connor was frozen in place, face-to-face with Sumo, with one hand holding the stuffed dog and his other all sort of twisted in the air. Hank had about a second in which he realized what was going on and some long forgotten reflex kicked in that got him there in time to get his hands under Connor’s shoulders. He was almost completely tense as he fell down, and Hank had to move his arms and legs to get him on his side, and pull the toy from his fist. His hand stayed that way like a damn doll. The way he just stared at nothing didn’t help. It was fucking scary was what it was- not like the blinking and spacing out from before. Hank could feel his blood pressure going up, and he swore to himself then stuck the doll under Connor’s head before getting up to grab his rescue meds from the backpack. He knew Connor was fine. There was nothing to worry about yet. On the ground, Connor was twitching and he’d half rolled onto his back again. Sumo, poor old guy, barked and ran a circle around him then tried to nuzzle at his stomach. Hank took him by the leash and, despite the dog’s protests, wrestled him into the bathroom out of the way before putting Connor back on his side.

— 

He was on the floor on his side a moment later, and Sumo was gone but Lieutenant Anderson was there. He flickered and jumped like a broken video.

—

Once Connor stopped convulsing and his muscles relaxed again, Hank breathed a sigh of relief. He pushed Connor’s hair out of his face and wiped some of the drool off his chin. Connor blinked slowly and his head lolled to the side. His eyes were wandering somewhere around Hank’s face and Hank smiled when he saw Connor start looking around like there was somebody home in that head of his. “Jeez. You scared me, Connor. You okay?”

Connor’s mouth moved but he didn’t answer, and what might have started out as Connor reaching up at him turned into a jerk and his gaze turned distant. God damn it… He was fine. Everything was fine. There was nothing to worry about yet. His phone sat heavily in his pocket like the rock of worry sitting in his stomach and Hank only thought for a minute before picking Connor up, carefully, and moving him over to the couch. He weighed practically nothing, even as dead weight, and even though Connor wasn’t conscious he was stiff and his head didn’t droop at all. A mean voice in the back of Hank’s head conjured up comparisons to rigor mortis and Hank wished he could punch it in the face.

— 

The sleeping place was next, and Connor hurt. His arms, his back, his insides, his legs, everything. Somewhere, something inside of him felt like it was _burning_. He saw Dog in front of him near his face, and he found his paw with the tips of his fingers and pulled him closer. Good dog… 

“Hey, Connor,” came Lieutenant Anderson’s voice and Connor felt his fingers comb through his hair when he tilted his head to see him sitting there next to him. “You’re back this time?”

It took a little while for the words to make sense. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“Hm?” The hand stopped, then kept moving. Connor shut his eyes and focused on the feeling of being petted.

—

Christ. Poor kid. He’d looked groggy as hell, but Hank thought he’d actually tried saying something that time before he jerked and then went limp and stared. Hank had to check his pulse just to make himself feel better. After about twenty seconds of anxious waiting, Hank hit his fist against the armrest of the couch and got up to pull a bottle of something stronger out of the fridge. Fuck it. This wasn’t a beer night. Against better judgment, he took the bottle with him back to the couch and sat down next to Connor’s head, one hand around the neck of the bottle and the other combing through Connor’s hair. Poor fucking kid… The fact his brain could just… start misfiring like that was insane. Hank had seen druggies frothing at the mouth and twitching in the throes of an overdose, and he’d seen all kinds of shit with his job, but Connor was practically a baby… Connor nodded under his hand, but an uncoordinated flop of his arm said it had nothing to do with agreement. Fuck. How long until he could call the hospital?

Thank fuck Hank had brought his rum with him when he sat down because he needed it. Just enough to let the fog descend over the front of his brain and settle in behind his eyes. A thick fog that stopped him thinking too much. That was what he needed. He wiped a few god damned tears from his eyes and took a few burning swallows. He wasn’t an idiot: it wasn’t like he wanted to be drinking right now, it was just that it was better for both of them. ‘You should bring him in if he has more than five seizures in a row without becoming alert in between’ they had said. They hadn’t accounted for how fucking scary it was watching him drop like that or stare like a corpse.

—

“I didn’t leave,” Connor answered. He reached up and patted Lieutenant Anderson on the knee. Lieutenant Anderson sighed and when Connor opened his eyes, he could see him checking the time. Connor breathed carefully and stayed still to wait for the not-pain to stop. Time seemed to move too slowly.

“You okay, Connor?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. He nudged Connor’s shoulder and looked into his face with a frown. Everything was crisp again when Connor blinked his eyes into focus and he examined his surroundings. He was still in his sleeping place, and the shadows had moved. It was nice that Lieutenant Anderson was there. He petted Connor’s hair again, and Connor leaned into the touch. It was good, so he wriggled closer until he could hide his face in the Lieutenant’s belly and rest his head on his leg.

“Oh. Okay…” Lieutenant Anderson said and after a few moments Connor felt him put his arm down, a warm weight on his side. “I guess this is happening now.”

—

Hank guessed this was happening now. Connor’s warm little head was tucked up against him and Hank could feel him breathing under his forearm. There was no way he was going to get any restful sleep tonight unless he passed out from drink, but he couldn’t even do that, could he? Connor needed him. Hank rubbed his back a little and Connor took a hold of his shirt with his hand. Yes, he was royally fucked…


	12. Life

Hank crawled out of bed with a pounding headache and a mouth that tasted like he’d washed some dryer lint down with ditch water. Christ. What time was it? 11:02am… Great. After he’d told Jeff off yesterday, now he was going to roll into work late and hung over. It would have been just another day if he didn’t have Connor… God, what an irresponsible prick. Hank groaned and rubbed his eyes then lay down again with his eyes shut. Maybe he could just not bother going in… Tell Jeff that he was taking care of the kid or something…

Fuck, but he had a lead finally and he couldn’t work on the case if he was sleeping off a hangover. 

Fucking fine… Why did he do this to himself? Hank sat up, congratulated himself on it, then shuffled off to the bathroom. A shower, a few painkillers, and a drink from the tap later he was ready to pretend like he was a functional human being. Shit. Connor. He was probably hungry, and he finally had some energy so what if he’d gotten hurt playing around or something? The little jolt of adrenaline finished the job of waking him up, and Hank walked to the living room with his eyes on the couch. “Connor?”

Connor was awake and he had found Hank’s gun.

There was silence in Hank’s mind and then about a billion thoughts at once. “Jesus motherfucking Christ. Connor! Drop it!”

Connor jumped and turned away from the window to stare wide-eyed at Hank, and the gun and Cole's toy dog dropped to the ground.

“Fuck fuck fucking shit. God damn it.” Why didn’t he lock the damn thing up? “I’m an idiot. A God damned idiot. Jesus Christ. Fuck. Shit.” Hank grabbed the gun and looked it over, then went right to his gun case and put it where it fucking belonged like a responsible adult. God. Shit. Mother Mary on a pogo stick. Hank punched the wall, then ran back to Connor who was still standing there, hands behind his back now, with a look of complete confusion on his face. Hank dropped down on his knees and looked Connor over for injuries, just to assure his irrational brain that he hadn’t shot himfuckingself. “Connor, oh my God. Don’t you fucking do that…” He was breathless and he pulled Connor to his chest to hug the shit out of him.

“What did I do?” Connor asked, voice muffled.

“You’re not allowed to hold a gun, Connor. You don’t even touch one, okay? That’s really dangerous. I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have- You could have- What the hell was I thinking?” Hank let go and looked at Connor, giving himself a sec to get his heart rate back down.

“Amanda wanted me to,” Connor said, looking back. His argument was tentative, and he looked a little afraid but Hank really couldn’t think about that right now.

“Connor, I don’t care. Whatever Amanda said giving you the gun that night, she was wrong. It’s against the law and you could have gotten killed or hurt somebody by accident.” He flashed back to Connor in that weird indoor park, holding a gun that must have been so heavy to him and staring at him and Chris like they were boogeymen. “You wouldn’t want to hurt Sumo, right?” Hank implored.

Connor shook his head and looked down.

“No, no,” Hank said, and he cupped Connor’s cheek in his hand to put his chin up. “You’re not in trouble. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. That was my fault… Christ. I’m sorry.” What kind of irresponsible shit was he? He shouldn’t be allowed to have Connor. Guilt settled in hard and it clenched its fist around his heart.

Connor reached over and patted Hank on the head. “Everything’s okay,” he said. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I should be,” Hank said and he let out a long sigh then pulled Connor in for another hug. Everything was fine… Christ. He got up and went to the gun case to make sure he had locked it, then dropped his forehead against the wall. When he’d figured his shit out and lifted his head, he walked back over to Connor and picked him up for another hug that Connor returned with enthusiasm. It was a far cry from the way he’d been a week ago. He pushed his cheek up against Hank’s scraggly beard and looped his arms around his neck, and Hank’s brain was so busy thinking of all the ways the morning could have gone even worse, it didn’t have time to make Connor hugging him anything but good. It was probably the adrenaline, but he felt warm and protective and sorry and so fucking angry at himself all at once.

To someone who tried so damn hard to swallow his grief, feeling that much was… a lot. It wasn’t rage, and it wasn’t that dull cloud of depression. If his feelings before had been a blurry photograph, then this was crisp and in ultra-HD. He didn’t breathe while he tried to wrap his mind around it… Around feeling something again, and the fear of going back to the grey resignation that he usually courted like a femme fatale.

Hank rubbed his fingers through Connor’s messy hair and held him closer. The world was falling apart but Connor was here, and he was so damn innocent. He hadn’t even seen it snow before recently. He probably didn’t know what the sun felt like in summer, or how the air smells before it rains. He hadn’t gotten to play with other kids or eat ice cream or watch cartoons. Hank wasn’t sure if he’d ever been hugged before him. Thoughts like that used to make him bitter and angry, but not this time. To Connor, the world was new and yeah it was a shit world, but he should see the good things in it, damn it. Whatever it was he had that made him light up at snowflakes, it was precious. 

Hank carried Connor over to the kitchen and sat him down on the counter. Connor kicked his feet and smiled up at him. Hank smiled back. “Okay… Everything’s good now, so let’s make some breakfast, hm? Do you want to try your jam?”

—

Connor was in ‘the station’ room and had been presented with more things to figure out while Lieutenant Anderson used his terminal. There were a few different things this time. Dog was there, so were the Crayons, paper, and crackers along with some yellow containers and a simple tablet that on inspection wouldn’t do much other than show him some colourful shapes.

“I hope you’re happy now,” Lieutenant Anderson was saying to Officer Pearson in a way that didn’t seem sincere.

“I didn’t… You didn’t…” Officer Pearson said.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you. I made a case about safety in the field. Don’t expect me to go pulling fancy new toys out of my ass in the future.”

“Sorry,” Officer Pearson shuffled his feet. “These look good. I think the guys’ll feel better knowing they can defend themselves a little easier. Those plastic fuckers can take a lot of bullets.”

“Yeah. Not too sure how these things work, but it’s something about magnets fucking them up.”

Officer Pearson snorted. “I guess it’s like computers. As long as this does the job, t̡͇̞̀̓̓h̗̫̼͋̂͆̊͟e̖̕ṇ̨̗̠̈́̓͛̕ g̛͙̫̐o̝͙͑͛ö̡͙͍́͠͞d̩̠̂̀͆͜.”

Connor blinked up at Lieutenant Anderson and smiled at him. Lieutenant Anderson sighed in relief then picked Connor up from the floor. He was’t sure when he’d moved, but shrugged it off and put his arms around the Lieutenant’s neck. He’d learned that he really enjoyed being held and it was nice to feel how warm and soft the Lieutenant was, and smell him and have his back rubbed. Connor hummed and pressed his face against the Lieutenant’s neck. 

“Just bounces right back, huh?” Officer Chris asked, having appeared a few feet away. Connor looked up at the sound of his voice and waved. 

“Yeah,” said Lieutenant Anderson, and he adjusted his grip while Connor had the realization that he could climb even higher and acted on it. “What do you think you’re doing, you little monkey?”

“Up!” Connor exclaimed, delighted. He paused. “Um. I’m sorry, Lieutenant… I wanted to be higher.” It had just been easy to act without thinking, and that was dangerous. Easy to answer simply without picking his words.

Lieutenant Anderson chuckled and Connor gasped when he was picked up under the arms and turned to sit on the Lieutenant’s shoulders. He looked around with wide eyes and held onto two fistfuls of the Lieutenant’s hair.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Officer Chris asked skeptically.

“I’ve got him,” said the Lieutenant, giving Connor’s legs a little squeeze. Connor put some of the Lieutenant’s hair in his mouth experimentally and Officer Chris laughed, so Connor smiled at him happy to have done something good. “Okay. I’ve got some work to do, but how about we go get me some coffee first? Sound good?”

“Yes,” Connor answered messily.

“Oh ew, Connor… Are you getting drool in my hair?”

“I think he’s hungry,” Officer Chris chuckled.

“Yeah? Are you hungry, kid?”

Connor thought about it. “Yes,” he answered, because he had eaten lots of different food lately and Amanda hadn’t been angry. Lieutenant Anderson started walking toward the break room and ducked down a little so that Connor wouldn’t hit his head on the doorway. 

“I’ve gotta say, man,” said Officer Chris, following them. “You seem like you’re doing… good. It’s good.”

Lieutenant Anderson hesitated, then continued making his coffee without looking at Officer Chris. “Yeah, well… It’s not so bad.”

“I was worried. I mean,” Officer Chris hurried to explain, “Not that you wouldn’t do a fantastic job with him, just, I was worried about you. You know?”

“I…” Lieutenant Anderson was tense for a second before relaxing again. “Thanks. I’m not going to lie: it’s been a hell of an adjustment. I’m not… It’s rough. I’ve got it though.”

“I know you do, man,” said Officer Chris, and the Lieutenant finally turned his head to look at him. “What?” Officer Chris laughed awkwardly.

“Nothing,” said the Lieutenant. He took a drink of coffee. Connor liked the smell.

“Kids sure are something, aren’t they?” Officer Chris asked. “World falling apart and they’re all happy over cartoons and shit.” When Lieutenant Anderson didn’t say anything, Officer Chris continued. “It makes you wonder what the big deal is, you know? Why do we gotta fight? The androids say they’re alive, then… Maybe they are, right?”

“They’re machines, Chris,” said Lieutenant Anderson. “Broken fucking machines and they can’t care about anything. You might hesitate because you empathize, but they’ll take that second and they’ll take you out. Don’t forget that.”

“Right,” said Officer Chris reluctantly. “So. About this case. Did you get any leads?”

“Reed got me the ballistics report: one of the guns is registered to Mr. CyberLife himself.”

“Kamski?” Officer Chris raised his eyebrows. “That’s kind of out of nowhere.”

“Yeah,” Lieutenant Anderson agreed. “I’m not following up until I’ve got some more to go on. Three guys dead, one missing woman, and a sick kid covered in tattoos and scars. It doesn’t seem like Kamski’s kind of deal. More likely the gun’s stolen. I want to keep chasing the human trafficking angle.” Lieutenant Anderson’s hand tightened on Connor’s leg.

“There’s that missing girl from the Williams murder,” said Officer Chris. “Any luck with that?”

Lieutenant Anderson shook his head. “Nothing turned up yet. I got the details from the crime scene, but there’s nothing that says it’s related… Fuck. There’s a kid out there and what the hell am I doing?”

“You’ve got a lot going on, Hank,” said Officer Chris sympathetically. “Missing Persons is handling it. You just worry about the android end of it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled. He started walking and Connor looked around the room, enjoying the vantage point. They returned to Lieutenant Anderson’s desk and Connor was put down on the chair again with more crackers and the lidded cup slid in front of him. His attention was diverted from the conversation and he picked up the cup to put the drinking piece in his mouth and sucked. The liquid inside was sweet and Connor pulled his feet up onto the chair then pulled Dog closer to offer him a taste. Dog didn’t need to eat or drink because Dog wasn’t alive, but Connor thought that Dog might like to anyway. Juice was nice, so were crackers and macaronis.

Connor made himself comfortable curled up with his back against the chair, Dog in his lap, and the cup of juice to share between them. After a moment he decided to bring the little bag of crackers closer too, and he put it beside him on the seat. “Dog, do you like crackers?” Connor asked, but Dog didn’t answer and Connor gave him a cracker anyway. He liked them. Connor crunched on a bite, then offered the cracker back. It was sad that Dog didn’t have his own crackers, and Connor decided that he would always make sure that Dog had some. Dog was good and deserved to have t̨̼̣̋̋̑h̡͚͓͉̾͐̂̈́iṉ̰͖͊̇͠g̪̲̈̈́̐͢s̨̝̲̳̹̋̋̿̄̕ ̑͜t͎͓͔̬̻͌̇̔̆̀hȃ̛̮͟t̺͔͎̒̈̋ ̠̪̖͆̑͑w͕͕̓̄̿͢ḙ̄r̘͕̲̀̈́͂͌͗͢͢ḙ̏ ͚͙̜͍̀̇̉̑ḡ̝͚̒ǫ̘̩̬̒̈́̋̚od̟̖͊͛ ̗͈͕̣̍̀̌́t̞̄ỏ̫̯̓̌̈́͜͜o̢͎͕̪̞͑̈̄͝͝.

Connor picked up his cup which had fallen down onto the seat and offered the spout to Dog, who had also tipped over. Officer Chris petted Connor on the head and Connor looked up at him curiously. “You can eat a cracker too,” Connor said, offering him the bag.

Officer Chris smiled at him and took a cracker. “Thanks, little dude. You feeling okay?”

“Yes,” Connor answered, and he drank more of his juice.

—

Hank watched attentively while Connor froze, dropped his things, tipped over in his chair and blinked for a minute before recovering and picking up where he’d left off. “Kids are pretty resilient,” he said.

“Yeah,” Chris agreed sadly and ate the animal cracker Connor’d given him. “Did you get any more information from him on what might’ve happened or where he came from?”

Hank grimaced. “No…” He probably should have, but he’d been too focused on _Connor_ to remember he was the damn detective in charge of Connor’s case. Chris clapped him on the back.

“You got this, man. World’s gone crazy, so don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Hah. Can’t remember the last time somebody said that to me,” Hank reflected aloud.

Honestly, being a Lieutenant was more of a pain in the ass than Hank had figured a decade ago. As a detective, he’d been able to immerse himself in his cases and chase the scent like a bloodhound. It had been good. Now he had to supervise, schedule, sign shit, consult, and all kinds of crap that was safe but it wasn’t _meaningful_. Not in the same way. Back then, he’d been ready to have less field work. At least he thought he had been: he’d still taken cases home and spent more evenings than he should have thinking over them and itching to go out to the scenes himself. He’d been safe though. He’d had more predictable hours, more desk work, and less chance of a perp trying to off him. That had been important to his wife and it had been important to him too. That was why he’d tried so hard for that promotion right up until Cole’d been born. He had been willing to give up the excitement of the chase for the stability of office work. Sort of.

He closed the God damned information management system asking him to acknowledge yet another amendment to a document and brought up the case file.

It was enough to suck him in for a few hours. What did he know?

Connor didn’t know anyone except Amanda and some doctors.

He hadn’t been outside, but he said he’d been somewhere that was a lab?

He had those weird tattoos…Hank made a note to himself to get Tina to take some pictures for him. He’d been meaning to ask Reed if any of that shit was familiar from the Red Ice investigation but had just forgotten.

Hospital records. He should make some inquiries.

Connor had never been to school.

Three guys had been found dead in the house, killed by damn good shots.

Only one of the guns at the scene was traceable and it was last registered to Kamski.

Hank spent a while combing through the Missing Persons reports, filtering with all the info he could. He even took a picture of Connor on his phone and ran it through the facial recognition shit, trying to find a match. Nothing. He was a fucking ghost…Except ghosts came from dead people and had actual fucking histories. The kid spoke English. He spoke it way too well for someone under five, actually, and he didn’t look foreign not that that meant much.

There were no positive IDs on the victims.

Fuck, he really had a lot of work to do.

—

Connor looked up at Officer Tina and waited for instructions. She smiled at him. “Okay, Connor. I want to explain what’s happening so that you can ask questions before we start, alright?”

Connor nodded and folded his hands behind his back.

“We’re going to need to take some pictures of what you look like so that we can find out what happened to you and the bad guys who tried to hurt you. It’s really important and it’s going to help us a lot, but we’ll stop whenever you want to, okay?”

Connor nodded once. “Yes, Officer Tina.”

“Good. So, will you take your shirt off for me please?”

Connor did as he was told and he stood still while Officer Tina came closer and tilted his head to the side while she frowned and took pictures of the sides of his neck, the numbers on his chest and the line down his belly, then she asked him to turn around and she took two more of the back of his neck and behind his ears.

“Fuck. You’re sure that kid isn’t a zombie?” Connor heard Detective Reed ask from where he was watching in the corner of the room.

“Not funny,” Lieutenant Anderson growled.

“Seriously, guys, could you talk about this later? You’re going to scare him.”

“I’m not scared,” Connor pointed out with a small frown. He held his arms out while Officer Tina took more pictures of the lines and numbers on his sides.

“You’re a brave boy, Connor,” praised Officer Tina.

“Look, it’s creepy, that’s all,” said Detective Reed. “I’ve only seen cuts like that on corpses.”

“Same,” Lieutenant Anderson admitted. “I didn’t think they were for anything else.”

“They’re not,” said Officer Tina. “Good job, Connor. Let’s get your shirt back on so you don’t get chilly. Arms up!”

Connor lifted his arms and she pulled the shirt over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kind of short! Sorry, guys. As always, I'm really grateful for all of the comments and kudos! You guys rock. Let me know if there are things you'd like to see! If this is a guilty-pleasure fic, it might as well be a guilty pleasure for all of us!


	13. Old Patterns

It was an adjustment, having Connor around. Somehow more plastic dishes and cups had found their way into the dish rack, there were a few more toys that Cole’d outgrown upstairs, and there was a rubber duck in a bright blue bucket sitting by the bathtub in Hank’s bathroom. Connor hadn’t let go of the stuffed dog since Hank had decided to let him play with it and maybe Cole wouldn’t have minded if Connor kept it. The poor thing already needed a wash: it had food stains, drool stains, marker stains, and those unidentifiable stains that just sort of happened around a child. He’d probably have to sneak the thing into the laundry while Connor slept.

Sometimes Hank felt guilty for keeping Connor on the couch, but not guilty enough to make him open that room. Hard no on that one.

It was okay though. Hank had to remember to give Connor his meds, feed and water him, bathe him, and make sure he slept at bed time and it was all a lot more responsibility than he had in a long time. Fuck, Hank didn’t even do that shit for himself. He kind of _had to_ for Connor, though, and apparently that kicked his ass into gear enough to pretend he was a reasonably responsible adult.

It helped that Connor had a pretty low bar, in Hank’s opinion, and that he wasn’t a clingy kid. He didn’t think he could have handled a kid who was constantly demanding his attention, and Connor never did deliberately. Sometimes, though, Hank wished he would complain a little. Connor never asked for anything, not even a drink of water, so Hank found himself paying attention anyway just so Connor wouldn’t just let himself starve or sit there staring into space because nobody had told him he could play.

Or fall off of something, crack his head open, and die.

Hank saw Connor’s expression fade and his body tense up just in time to shoot a hand out across the table and steady him before getting around it and moving Connor onto the floor. He still had the little, plastic cereal spoon in his hand and Hank tossed it back up onto the table, cradling Connor’s head loosely with the other hand. Would it be overkill to get him to wear a helmet or was that against some kind of social rule he had no idea about? He didn’t know fuck all about epilepsy, but he was pretty sure he was developing some kind of anxiety problem over it. His dad reflexes had never been tested like this before. Fuck it. ‘Dad’ reflexes. It was just a saying. Hank would have scowled at himself if his face wasn’t busy wearing concern like a swim suit. Connor made a sound as his whole body jerked and Hank pulled the pillow off Connor’s chair to replace his hand under his head before he got his knuckles smashed. Connor’s eyes were still open but he wasn’t looking at anything, and that was probably the scariest thing about it. He looked an inch from dead with that unfocused stare and it wasn’t a stretch to remember the way he’d struggled to breathe and his heart fluttered and stammered under Hank’s hand. It was a struggle every time to keep himself present in the moment, and he had a feeling that night was going to haunt him for a long time.

Three minutes, thirty eight seconds later Connor went limp and stayed that way. Hank kept him propped in the recovery position and carded his fingers through Connor’s hair. His lips were a little blue, and Hank gave him a few pats on the back in the hope it might remind his body to keep breathing right. “Come on, Connor…” Hank murmured. He could span Connor’s whole back with one hand and it wasn’t fair how fragile he felt. That thought kept Hank occupied until Connor woke up and started looking around and his eyes found Hank. It would have been great if he bounced back the way he did after the little seizures, but Connor looked exhausted and it was probably going to be a while. “There you are,” Hank forced himself to smile.

“Nn hawl lnnd,” said Connor, and Hank ruffled his hair gently. 

“That’s right. Hello to you too.” Hank got Connor sitting up and Connor groaned but he cooperated. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Connor answered and his head bobbed. “Sleep,” he added.

“Okay, son, you can sleep soon,” Hank promised. “We just have to get you cleaned up a little.”

—

“Yeah, gonna be a little late,” Lieutenant Anderson was saying into his phone, and Connor listened passively. He had been dressed in soft clothes this time, and they were the best ones Connor had ever worn. With Dog tucked against his chest, a blanket on top of him, and a squishy pillow under his head, Connor didn’t think that he had felt so many nice things at once before. Lieutenant Anderson petted his hair and proved him wrong.

“It’s Connor. He’s fine, just needs some time to recover and I don’t want to drag him into the station like this. I can do some shit from home.”

“Har har. I’m capable of doing my job.”

“Well maybe I don’t usually call in because I don’t need a reminder of your _unwavering_ faith in me.”

“Sure, will do.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye.”

Connor made a quiet sound that Amanda would not have liked, but Lieutenant Anderson didn’t mind. He traced little circles in Connor’s hair with his fingertips and Connor leaned into it.

“You feeling okay, kid?” Lieutenant Anderson asked him. Connor cracked his eyes open and hummed. He thought about confessing that he hurt, but even the smallest possibility that he might be fixed was too much so he shut his eyes again. Lieutenant Anderson’s hand stilled and he gave Connor’s shoulder a little shake. “Connor?”

Connor opened his eyes again blearily.

“You have to breathe a little deeper for me, okay?”

Amanda was probably watching with the cameras. Amanda knew everything and she would be disappointed in him for being broken, so even though Connor wanted to rest where he was he pushed himself up to sit with shaking arms. “I’m okay,” he said faintly. That was right. How had he forgotten to put the bad things away where they couldn’t bother him? His head spun and he didn’t realize that he’d started to fall back down until the Lieutenant caught him and pulled him against him, then moved him so that he was lying on his side with his head on his lap. Connor didn’t bother to try to get up again, and he tried to take deep breaths. Maybe the static would clear from his vision. Maybe he would stop feeling sick. 

“Connor,” Lieutenant Anderson sounded very worried. “Talk to me. What’s the matter?”

“Amanda will be mad,” Connor said, and he curled his legs up.

“What did you say?” Lieutenant Anderson rubbed Connor’s chest. “Nobody’s mad at you…” He adjusted his tone into something softer. “Nobody’s mad. You’re a good kid, Connor. Shh. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Dog was somewhere by his feet and before he could try to get him, Lieutenant Anderson was already putting Dog into Connor’s arms. It was amazing that he knew. Connor rubbed Dog clumsily on the head and then tucked him under his chin where he would be safe and warm and nobody would see him be scared.

—

Hank did the best he could with what he had access to at home. It was a lot more than he probably should have had, but being able to work from home once in a while was one of the few perks of desk-work, and if Jeff called it a workplace accommodation well he wasn’t going to turn his nose up at it. There had been plenty of days where his depression kept him in bed and his guilt made him need to either do something useful or blow his brains out. Work at home was a good compromise. It would have been good while Cole was alive, just to be able to be a little more flexible.

Well, now it was coming in handy for Connor at least. “You keep an eye on him for a sec, boy,” Hank said to Sumo, who had flopped down by the couch. The old lump looked up at him and thumped his tail, which was good enough for Hank. He gently replaced his lap with a pillow under Connor’s head and got up to stretch. His back popped and he didn’t really feel it but it sounded like it should have been a good one. Wasn’t that his life all over? He rolled his shoulders and went to dig out his work tablet. Damn thing was built like a tank. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t just make it a fucking laptop.

A fresh pot of coffee, some halfassed cleaning, and a sandwich later Hank had made himself a little work station at his desk which, over the last few years, had become more of a storage space for mail addressed to people who’d moved years ago, ‘important’ papers, and shit he emptied out of his pockets. Connor was still asleep on the couch, and Sumo’d decided to take up the rest of it. He definitely judged himself for being irrational, but he got up one more time to check that Connor was breathing. It was like seeing a ghost, having him lying there with Sumo and wearing Cole’s pyjamas and it would be just like his brain to fuck with him. Those dreams where he was having a regular day, or just doing something around the house while Cole was asleep or playing or something… They were the worst, because he’d either wake up crying or he would remember Cole was gone half way through and it would be his broken body in his bed, or in the yard or on the couch… Hank gave himself a shake and put his hand on Connor’s head so he could focus. The kid did one better and opened his eyes just long enough to reach up and pat Hank on the wrist with his tiny, little hand before going back to sleep. No, it wasn’t some fucked up dream and that was good. Hank smiled down at Connor with more than a hint of sadness and sat back down at his desk.

Sometimes Hank would listen to angry music while he was angry, sad music when he was sad. He didn’t know why he fed into his own stupid ass emotions but part of him must have a hell of a masochistic streak. Maybe that was what caused downward spirals? But if he didn’t have booze to numb him out, it was good to have a reason other than his own shitty personality to feel the way he did. Whatever psychobabble bullshit it was, it made him pull out his phone and open up his photos. He didn’t have many. Like poking at an old wound, he started at the beginning. He’d had his phone for ten years and he was shit about cleaning it up, so there were blurry duplicates and screen shots of conversations he’d laughed at… Pictures with his ex-wife when they were still in love…

Cole and Sumo were the most prevalent of course. Sumo’d been a total goof as a puppy, and Cole had been so fucking cute… God. What was the matter with him? His grip tightened on his phone and he had to put it screen-down on his desk and then rubbed his face. He glanced back to Connor, got up, and shuffled off to the fridge. Fine. It was fine. He was just a shitty person and he needed life to stop being shitty back at him.

Maybe seeing Connor doing so poorly had messed him up more than he’d thought… The fact that he was about to drink at 10am spoke for itself, though: he was just messed up and he wasn’t supposed to be taking care of a kid.

—

“Lieutenant…?” Connor asked while he opened his eyes. He was cold, and he pulled the blanket up around his shoulders when he sat up. Dog fell onto his lap and he held onto him along with the edges of the blanket then slid himself down until his feet met the cool floor. Lieutenant Anderson was sitting in a chair and Connor went closer to look up at him. His head was propped on one hand and he was swiping on his tablet. He was awake but he didn’t seem to hear so Connor let go of his blanket with one hand and reached upward to curl his fingers into Lieutenant Anderson’s shirt. “Lieutenant?” 

Lieutenant Anderson startled and the tablet topped back onto the table while he looked down at Connor. “What? Oh. Fuck…” He wiped his face with his hand and his shirt was tugged out of Connor’s grip as he pushed his chair back, and Connor let his hand drop down to his side. “What do you want?” Lieutenant Anderson looked away and stood.

“I don’t want anything,” Connor answered, and his half formed thoughts about being picked up and hugs died away unsaid.

“Right. Of course you don’t,” the Lieutenant said with a complicated tone. “If you’re up, let’s get you dressed and let’s go. I’ve got some stuff to take care of at the station.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Connor let himself be dressed in his familiar, white buttoned shirt and jeans, and he held still while the Lieutenant pulled a comb through his tangly hair. After a coat had been pulled over his arms and fastened he waited by the door, pet Sumo on the head, and watched the Lieutenant while he grimaced at the screen of his phone then shoved it into his pocket. It wasn’t that something was wrong exactly, but there was a feeling in Connor’s chest that was like thirsty or hungry, or wanting to breathe… None of those were real, and this must not be either, but he wanted to be held. He wanted to be hugged and to feel the way he felt when Amanda said _well done, Connor._ But he didn’t want anything really, so he sat quietly while he was strapped into the seat and scratched at the lines in his hair once they started moving. It didn’t hurt. It couldn’t.

“Fuck’n hate winter roads. Why the hell are all these people on the road anyway? Hasn’t anybody heard we’re supposed to be anywhere but _out_? What is the matter with people? If you ask me, evacuation’s the best thing that happened to Detroit and still half of the motherfuckers won’t leave…” Lieutenant Anderson was grumbling, and Connor wasn’t sure what to say.

“There are so many people,” he said quietly. “Why does Amanda want so many?”

“I don’t think Amanda’s got anything to do with it, kid, and you’re a little young for the birds and bees talk.”

“I haven’t met any birds or bees,” Connor said and Lieutenant Anderson sighed.

“Just… Never mind, Connor.” He grimaced when his phone alerted him and he answered with a bark. “What?”

_“Hey, Hank, where are you?”_

“At your mom’s house,” Lieutenant Anderson clearly lied. Amanda had no children.

_“Ha ha,”_ said the voice, _“We got word that a deviant was sighted near Chandler park but we think they got on a bus heading down the I-94 toward the station. Thought you’d want to know, we’re putting the alert out to all patrols.”_

“Right,” Lieutenant Anderson acknowledged and he ended the communication. “Look I have to drop Connor off with somebody then I can head over.”

_“Okay, we’ll see you out there.”_

“Later, Ben.”

Connor, having heard his name, looked at Lieutenant Anderson with curiosity. If he noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it and Connor accepted the silence. It wasn’t for him to ask questions, no matter how lenient the Lieutenant had been with him lately. He received his explanation when they reached a new room inside the Cold Garden. The outside walls were all made of red rocks, and it was long and flat. Connor studied it while Lieutenant Anderson took him out of the car and set him down, and then his attention was captured by the snow under his feet. Connor couldn’t resist stepping up and down a few times to feel it squish and he smiled up at the Lieutenant: maybe the snow would make him happy too?

Lieutenant Anderson shut the car door and gestured toward the new room. “Okay, come on, Connor. You’re going to meet some new kids today.”

New… Connor bit his lip. “They’re new. Am I going to be replaced?” The question slipped out and he wished that he could have swallowed it instead.

“You’re just going to stay here for a few hours while I’m working, got it? So behave and try to stay out of trouble.” The Lieutenant paused on his way toward the door and shifted awkwardly while he looked back at Connor, then he knelt down so that they were nearly eye level. “Daycare is where kids go to play while their parents are working. There’ll be some grownups there to watch you, and they’ll be really friendly. Got it?”

Connor was going to go into the Day Care where he would be observed. There would be children and he was expected to behave well without causing problems. He nodded and folded his hands behind his back. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Uh. Well, they’ll probably have things for you to do. You can ask them inside. Just… Just be good and don’t run off or something.”

“Yes Lieutenant,” Connor nodded and he followed Lieutenant Anderson into the room, wishing again that he could be picked up… Would the Lieutenant have him fixed or destroyed if one of the new ones was better? Amanda would be watching to see how he compared… They went down a hall with a dark blue floor and white walls covered in colourful pictures and papers, and he could hear the sounds of talking and laughter from a distant room echoing and growing louder while he followed. The Lieutenant opened some heavy metal doors by pressing down on a lever, and then the sounds were everywhere. The floor was wooden with painted lines, and there were both technicians and children scattered around the room. Lieutenant Anderson approached one of the technicians and Connor stood just behind his leg with a neutral expression and his hands clasped. He stayed still, but his eyes roved the room.

_The lines are meaningless right now._

_There are several different tests._ Some of the children were drawing the way Connor had in the Station, and others were throwing soft balls or stacking blocks. A screen displayed some brightly coloured figures in another corner with a handful of children watching attentively. They were all being watched, and Connor studied the way the technicians interacted with the other subjects. He listened while he watched.

“Hey, sorry about that, Brenda.”

“It’s fine, Hank. We had a couple of cancellations. It’s been pretty crazy, though! So many people scrambling to find child care without androids around to do it…”

“I hear you. About time if you ask me.”

“It’s not great,” the technician argued with a smile. “I mean, I hate that so many people are stressed about it, but I’m glad that it’s work. You know?”

“Right… I guess it pays to be a cop. Wish they’d figured out we were ‘essential’ before they stuck the force with so many plastic police dolls. Now they’ve taken off they’re seeing how much they need us, I guess.”

“Does anybody know when the restrictions are going to be lifted?”

“Nah, not that I’ve heard. It’s too dangerous with all the androids out there.”

“Yeah, but what are they going to do?”

“Keep on patrolling to keep people safe, I guess. Once we find out where they’re all hiding, we’ll be able to take them out.”

“Yeah… And who’s this little guy?” The technician’s voice became more high pitched and she squatted in front of Connor, who turned his attention back toward her and stood properly. He should introduce himself… It was hard to open his mouth.

“This here’s Connor. I have some stuff here: he likes having his stuffed dog with him, and he takes his meds after dinner… He has seizures, but apparently it’s not a big deal unless it lasts longer than five minutes or he hurts himself or something…”

The woman’s expression softened, but Connor wished that Lieutenant Anderson hadn’t made her aware of that flaw. He might have been able to hide it. “Aw, poor little guy. Don’t worry: I may not have downloadable protocols or anything, but I did go to school for this. He’ll be just fine and we’re going to have lots of fun, right Connor?”

Connor nodded uncertainly.

Lieutenant Anderson looked down at him and some of the tension he’d been holding in his face finally started to melt. Something about his expression seemed just as uncertain as Connor felt, but then he sighed and shook his head. “Right… Well, be good Connor. I’ll come get you in a few hours.”

“I won’t let you down,” Connor promised quietly. He hoped that he would be able to keep it. Lieutenant Anderson gave Connor a half smile that was more of a thinning of his lips and Connor watched him leave with a lump in his throat and his breath sticking in his chest. The Lieutenant walked briskly and then the big doors closed behind him and he was out of sight along with any hope of a hug. He didn’t deserve hugs, he reminded himself. Not until he did well.

He would be good.

He would not be replaced.

Unless he should be… He was broken and he refused to be fixed. Connor shrunk in on himself a little as he considered how very _bad_ that was and he looked around at the other subjects who seemed much more comfortable than he was… Why had the Lieutenant decided to test him after all? Had he done something wrong?

Would the Lieutenant really come back?

The only option was to pass his tests. Connor wiped his eyes on his sleeve and turned toward the technician with his back straight and a respectful expression on his face. “Could you tell me what I should do please?"


	14. Clumsy

The guilt hit right about when the booze wore off, and his conscience jabbed him right behind the eyes in the mother of all headaches to remind him that he was tempting fate driving drunk like that with a damn kid with him. What the hell had he been thinking? First the gun and now this. It was fuck up after fuck up and somehow he was still trying. It was only a matter of time before Connor got hurt because of him. All Drunk Hank had figured was that he’d needed some time alone without the constant reminders of Cole and fate could go fuck itself… Christ. He was so used to being half in the bag, it hadn’t even registered. What the fuck was wrong with him?

To top it off, he had lost the deviant’s trail. He’d been _this_ fucking close. The little girl had been half hidden behind the android, but there was no doubt it was her. The deviant had disguised itself pretty well, and it had looked almost human with that fear in its eyes. Human… or like a hunted animal. It had made him think twice. He’d hesitated, unsure if it were really the android, and he could have kicked himself for it now. Damn it all. A kid had no business being out in the cold like this, and there was no way that android was going to be able to keep her safe. That’s what it had been doing, hadn’t it? But why? Why the fuck would it kill its owner and kidnap the kid if it wanted her to be safe? Want. Shit. There he was... trying to ascribe human emotions onto a fucking piece of plastic. It didn’t want anything. It didn’t care about the girl. It was just fucked up code, and they were all lucky that whatever code it had telling it to keep the kid alive hadn’t been corrupted.

What if it had been? Hank scribbled down on his old-fashioned notepad that maybe… maybe the android was following its code. There’d been evidence of drug use in the home, and Williams had a criminal record. Even if Williams had otherwise been a saint, take the command ‘protect the kid’ to its extreme and… But that didn’t explain running from the cops like it knew it had done wrong. 

Somewhere out there, there was a kid whose maybe-dad was dead and who was at the mercy of a defective damn machine… Hank slammed his fist down on his desk hard enough to jar one of his magnets off the board and rattle his coffee cup.

“Hank, go home,” came Jeff’s stern voice. Fucking Jeff. Hank gave him a sideways scowl and didn’t reply, so Jeff clapped him on the back. “You did what you could out there, Hank. We’ve got every cop in the city on alert. We’ll get it.”

He was on to something. He could feel it. Hank opened his mouth to object, but tasted only bitterness so he shut his mouth. They didn’t believe he was up to a big case; not even Jeff. Maybe especially not him. Fucking Chris with his surprise over Hank keeping Connor alive. Fucking Jeff assuming he couldn’t handle himself. Ben was the only one who didn’t seem to look down on him lately, and that was only because Ben was a lazy piece of shit who did as little work as he could manage and had a cynical sense of humour. He’d shown up drunk to an investigation. Maybe they were right.

“Yeah… Whatever,” said Hank with a weary shake of his head. He could feel the fight drain out of him and be replaced with that familiar hollow ache. The world was shit. That was all there was to it.

“It was good work out there, Hank,” Ben said, wrapping his scarf around his fat neck. “Take it easy.”

Hank replied with a half-hearted wave. As he left the station, the cold wind hit him hard enough to make him curse and the little snowflakes cut into him like little darts. Christ. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and hurried to the car. Fucking wind made him play tug of war just to close his door. Fucking cold. Fucking winter.

Fuck everything.

With the car on and the headlights cutting swaths through the halfhearted darkness of the parking lot, he caught sight of the car seat in the back and groaned aloud. The steering wheel was cold and rigid in response to the smack he gave it before pulling his phone out. 4 missed calls. Great. With a shake of his head, he stuffed it back in his pocket. He didn’t feel like talking to anybody. They’d all figure he was a fuck-up anyway.

The schools were all closed while people figured out what the fuck to do without their plastic teachers, and a few of them had been made into child-care centres for the essential service workers like him that society couldn’t afford to let stay home and mind their own kids. With all the nanny-bots gone and most of the jobs suddenly vacant, it was no wonder most people had decided to get the fuck out of Detroit instead of dealing with choosing between work and family. God forbid anybody hire a high schooler to babysit anymore. Somewhere along the line, it had just stopped being a thing. Who would trust a human to do anything when a robot could supposedly do it ten times better?

Fucking androids were just useless pieces of shit. Hank snarled thinking of a particular ’surgical assistant android’ and was glad nobody could see him do it. The roads were pretty empty, and so was the lot as Hank pulled up at the former elementary school. If anybody at all had parked there, including him, the tracks were long covered up and little mounds of snow had formed banks around the few cars there were left. Hank cursed to himself as he slammed the car door and hurried inside.

—

Connor had been left alone with the technicians. Lieutenant Anderson had not returned. He lay on a blue, soft mat on the floor with a box of juice beside him and Dog held to his chest, morosely wondering what would happen to him now. It had been his own fault. Every test he’d tried his best on, but he had glitched and woken up to a couple of the technicians mumbling over him and that had been that. The other children had names and only a few of them had known their numbers, where Connor had been able to recite his perfectly. He had not performed as well as the others at Crayons, but he had redeemed himself throwing the ball and he had known all of the English letters… It seemed that not all of the children belonged to Amanda, or maybe they all had a Lieutenant like he did. Whoever the adults were, they arrived in ones and twos, and the other children were removed from the testing facility.

All except Connor.

They would probably fix him soon.

The program was much larger than he’d believed… He was supposed to be the only one. The miracle of science. Amanda’s greatest success. Now he was failing, failing, failing...

“Hey, yeah, sorry…”

“… favour. I understand that you’re busy, but…”

Connor’s eyes snapped open and he gasped. His juice fell over and Dog toppled onto the mat when he scrambled up at the sight of Lieutenant Anderson. With wide eyes, he checked and double checked that he was right, and he was: the Lieutenant had come for him after all. He wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat and came out as a meaningless sound. Lieutenant Anderson stood with snow melting into murky puddles under his boots and flecks of water in his grey hair. His expression made it seem like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Connor understood. One of the technicians bent down to pick him up and he let it happen without taking his eyes off of the Lieutenant. What now? Before he could think better of it, he was wriggling and reaching out with one hand. The technician just laughed and mercifully brought him closer. “Aww… There you go. Say hi to daddy!”

“What? Oh. No, I’m—“

Connor would do anything. One more test and it would be so easy to pass. “Hi, daddy! Please…!” He was close enough that he could grab a hold of the Lieutenant’s coat, and he could feel the cold coming off of it in waves. The little pieces of ice on it melted under Connor’s hands. Then the technician let him go and the Lieutenant was finally, _finally_ , holding him. He wouldn’t let go again, would he? “I was good, I did my tests, please, I was good, I was good, I promise.”

He wasn’t allowed to cry, but he coughed and hiccuped messily into the Lieutenant’s collar and there was no way to stop. It was too strong of a feeling, imaginary or not. It was strong enough that the only way to make it stop might be to tear it out of him along with whatever else was _wrong_ inside him. He’d felt it before when he had been brought to the new lab for testing, and he had felt it when he had disappointed Amanda very badly and had made her leave. He keened and cried and it was hard to keep a breath inside of him when his shaking sobs kept forcing him into breathlessness. Connor tried hard, hard, hard not to make any sound that wasn’t an explanation that he had been good, and he had tried, and please, please, please even though he didn’t know what he was begging for.

—

The world was shit. Life was shit. There was a damn winter storm outside and a little girl had been kidnapped by an android and he’d spent most of his morning getting drunk and pouring salt in old wounds by looking at pictures of the life he’d used to have… It took a hell of a lot to shock him out of his bad mood. Having a little boy call him dad and cling to him like a lifeline was pretty damn shocking.

“He was very well behaved,” the girl said. It wasn’t Brenda: just some kid who was probably not even thirty. “It looks like he missed you, though.”

Through all of his crying, Connor was stammering nonsense and Hank just stood there helplessly bouncing on his heels and patting Connor on the back with the ghost of a reflex that was like riding a bike. He was warm and small, with his loose curls tickling Hank’s ear and tiny fists holding onto him desperately. “Jesus…” Hank whispered under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” the girl said with a sympathetic smile like it was Hank’s first rodeo. “Connor was a little angel and he’s just fine. Aren’t you, Connor? Aren’t you happy to be going home?”

Connor’s head moved up and down in a nod and he might have said something, but it was lost in the wet sniffling.

That feeling from that morning was back, and Hank muttered a few soothing things in a low voice while he rocked the little bundle in his arms. “You’re okay, Connor. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Shh… I’ve got you. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner…” He lifted his hand to cup the back of Connor’s head with his fingers threaded through his hair. When he’d stormed his way in, Hank had been hoping to get in and out so that he could get Connor to sleep and have another drink to forget this whole day, but his hurry had petered out. “Everything’s okay. Big breaths, hm?” The warmth of inside had softened him up apparently, because the way Connor kept on holding his breath and shaking was just heart breaking. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Connor cried like he was hiding from the boogeyman. From the silent tracks of tears over a snack he didn’t think he could eat, to the screaming and pleading at the hospital where Hank had fucking left him, it all told a sad story about what life for Connor had been like before they’d found him. He was the last damn guy to show up and the staff were probably itching to leave, but fuck them. Hank took up a spot by the wall while somebody grabbed his backpack for him and he waited until Connor tired himself out and started to calm down.

When he had a chance and Connor had gone limp in his arms, Hank knelt down to one-handedly fish a tissue out of his bag and prop Connor up on his knee while he wiped his face. “Blow,” he prompted holding onto the tissue. Ew. Hank was pretty sure he had snot in his hair too… But hey, he’d had worse in there on his bad nights. The goof blew with his mouth like he was putting out a candle and Hank chuckled. “With your nose, you dork.”

Once he was good and clean, Hank smiled at him and Connor’s eyes welled up again. “You came back,” said Connor in a small voice.

“Yeah, kid, I came back,” Hank affirmed. “I shouldn’t have left you so long. I’m sorry.”

Hank was sorry for a lot of things. He kept his mistakes and his deliberate, shitty actions numbered and organized in a way his desk never would be. There wasn’t a lot he could do about how he’d let his relationships sour, and he couldn’t change anything about the day of the accident now, no matter how much he wished he could. All of the times he brushed someone off, or said something sarcastic before he could think better of it… he chocked those up to being a shitty, fucked-up alcoholic and the only way that could change was with him finally dying alone in a puddle of his own vomit. Who knew how Connor understood the world? Daycare was supposed to be fun. He hadn’t accounted for Connor being that… attached. Hadn’t accounted for coming back to a boy crying like he’d broken something inside. Hank didn’t like to think about what he’d been like at the hospital for days.

—

Connor looked back at the Lieutenant full of uncertainty. Of course the Lieutenant was allowed to leave him for however long and wherever he liked. Connor bit his lip when he realized how selfish he was being and he scratched at his head, pulling at the hair around the lines where it wouldn’t grow. “I’m sorry,” he echoed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” the Lieutenant said sadly, but he smiled afterward and surprised him by poking Connor on the nose. “It was a long day… I bet Sumo misses us. Do you think you’re ready to go home?”

Connor nodded. 

The world felt fuzzy after that, and he wasn’t any help at all while the Lieutenant dressed him to go into the cold. It was so cold it made him gasp and he buried his face in the Lieutenant’s neck while he was carried to the car. It was cold there too, and the warm air that came out of a pair of vents didn’t do anything to cut the chill. Connor let his eyes drift shut on the drive, and the soft sounds from the car blended in with his cloudy thoughts. It didn’t feel real that they had gone back to the Sumo place until the door had shut behind them, and the Lieutenant had helped him out of his jacket and shoes. Sumo was there and Connor hugged him unashamedly. Sumo was a good dog, and he licked Connor’s face many times until Lieutenant Anderson gave Sumo a vigorous scratching and filled his bowl with food.

“Jeez,” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled while he looked into the cupboards and drawers. “I didn’t even send a snack with you, did I? God… Did they feed you at the Daycare?”

“I don’t need anything,” Connor answered. That was the way it should be. He walked into the kitchen after Sumo and sat to investigate his tail.

“Fucking hell,” said Lieutenant Anderson. “Of fucking course you’d say that, wouldn’t you? Christ…”

Connor looked up from wagging Sumo’s tail for him ań̢͓̕͞ͅḍ͘…

“… one of these days. Shit. What a day. Fuck,I mean…Shoot.” Lieutenant Anderson held a pot in one hand and a spoon in the other while he coaxed noodles to fall into the bowls set out. Connor huffed when Sumo licked him and rubbed Sumo’s side with both hands.

“Sumo…” Connor yawned.

Lieutenant Anderson looked down and crouched to give Sumo a vigorous scratch behind the ears, then ruffled Connor’s hair with the other hand. He was smiling in the sad way again, and Connor smiled back at him delighted at the friendly touch and hopeful that he might cheer the Lieutenant up. “Yeah,” said Lieutenant Anderson. “Sumo’s a good boy.”

Connor nodded. “Sumo is a good boy,” he repeated solemnly. Sumo was so lucky to have Lieutenant Anderson as an owner, and Connor wished that he could belong to the Lieutenant too. Lieutenant Anderson held him, he made the testing stop, and he allowed him to wear the softest clothes. “You’re a good boy too, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Anderson scoffed. “Right…Thanks, kid. Come on, you’ve got to wash your hands before food.” Connor was hoisted up onto the counter beside the sink and he reached toward the taps, pleased that he knew what to do. He was rewarded with the water gushing out and the Lieutenant putting some soap into his palms. The task wasn’t done yet, though, and Connor concentrated while he washed his hands thoroughly. When he was finished, Lieutenant Anderson closed the taps and held up a towel with a better smile on his face. He must have found Connor’s performance acceptable. Feeling more confident, Connor nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Pff…” The Lieutenant chuckled and hung the towel ŏ̢͎̜͈͗́͐v̟̩̓̉ë̮̝̱́̑̐ṛ̘͖̓̔̃ a͖̺͙͍͐̓͂̌͝ͅ ̺͗d̛͈̖͉̱̘̑̇̏́r̛̭̻̓a̤͊we̠̠̍͘r̘̘͒͛ h̨͍͓̆̃̕ȃ̦̮͍̊̽nd͕̹͉̻̐̓̚͜͡͝l̡͇̪̥̯͙͛͋͒͌͒̀̓͢e̺͘...

—

“Oh, fuck,” Hank just about had a damn heart attack when Connor made a sound like he’d been punched in the chest and tipped forward, and he caught him by throwing an arm out to break his fall before he could wind up in the sink. With his heart hammering in his throat, he cradled Connor in his arms and took a few hurried steps to the couch then sat down. Sumo barked and trailed after him. Poor old boy was just as stressed about everything as Hank was. Connor stared into nothing and there wasn’t a damn thing that Hank could do other than sit there, make sure he was safe, and take a few deep breaths. It was at least the third time that day. Those fucking asshole doctors said he should get better with the drugs, but Hank wasn’t seeing it. It had been almost a week since Hank’d taken him home and Connor was a little more lively and expressive, but there was still something wrong if he was seizing so much, wasn’t there? Should he have let them run their scans and shit to find out exactly what it was? Connor had hated the hospital more than Hank had, but maybe it would have been for the best.

Connor was tense but pliable, like a living doll while Hank moved him onto his side and got a pillow under his head, and he was barely breathing. It was fucking terrifying, and he suddenly remembered why he’d gotten drunk that morning in the first place. God damn. Hank pushed Connor’s hair out of his face and gave Sumo a gentle push down when he tried to lick him. “Easy. Down, Sumo.” He should put Sumo in his room. Fuck, but he couldn’t get up and leave him. He settled for minding the both of them and tried not to think while Connor started twitching under the hand Hank left on his side and his mouth worked like he’d gotten stuck trying to say something over and over. All that escaped was little whimpers that didn’t mean he was in pain, according to the hospital, but it conjured up all kinds of fears and memories. Taking care of this kid was just ending with him getting triggered again and again. Fuck. Hank checked the time and ground his teeth.

“None of us asked for this. Eh, Sumo?” Hank asked, looking into Sumo’s kind, dark eyes. Sumo made a boof sound at hearing his name and started trying to nose at Connor again. Hank nudged him back so neither of them would get hurt by accident. “Sit, Sumo.”

Sumo sat and whined.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either…Shit. Connor, come on. Come back—“ Hank lost his breath at his own words and shook his head, eyes shut tight. He hissed a curse between clenched teeth and sucked in a harsh breath. Connor was still staring without focus and twitching while his brain misfired. He was far away, somewhere Hank couldn’t reach.

_He looks like he’s dying._

It was the worst thought he could have had. He ground his palms into his eyes until he saw spots and then forced them open again so he could make sure Connor hadn’t started smothering himself or something. Thank God he had put Connor in his own clothes that morning instead of Cole’s. With a tremendous effort, he hauled his dark and heavy thoughts away and tried not to think at all. He hated that bullshit about focusing on his breath, but whatever kept him sane would have to fucking do. He adjusted how Connor’s head lay again and felt for him breathing.

It felt like an age before Connor’s muscles went lax and Hank knew rationally that was a good thing, but the anxiety never left him.

“You awake, Connor?” Hank asked. Simple questions. Something small to focus on to tell when Connor became alert and to keep Hank from blowing his own brains out.

“Can you hear me?” His voice sounded gravelly and hoarse to his own ears.

“Are you awake?”

“Say something, Connor.”

“Can you look at me?” Seriously. Fuck his life. Why had he lived when Cole had died? And screw Jeff for wanting him to move on. He was never going to move on because Cole deserved better than being left behind.

“Connor, what’s my name?” He couldn’t resist squeezing Connor’s shoulder gently to try to rouse him.

“Come on, buddy…Come on. Please. Sumo’s getting worried.” He was just lying there, eyes half open and spit making a trail from the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve scared the hell out of me way too many times, kid. Passing out all over the place, just about having a heart attack, all this crap your brain’s doing.” He wasn’t awake to say sorry and that was good, because Connor didn’t have a damn thing to be sorry for. Poor fucking kid.

“And what the hell is up with all those scars, huh? And those tattoos and that garden and that Amanda of yours. You were alone in a house with three dead bodies. What the damn hell is going on with you?” Hank wished it could have just been easy. “I don’t want to care about you, Connor. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the death of me.”

Nothing. He moved and twitched a little here and there, but it wasn’t him really. Hank heaved a deep sigh and rubbed Connor’s back. “I don’t want to, but I’m fucking worried here, kid. Like it or not, I can’t help giving a shit… I’m such a mess though, I don’t know if I should even be allowed to take care of you. I can’t even take care of myself.”

“Hey, Connor. Can you hear me?”

“You’re just going to go in the end anyway. Happy ending and all. Someone’ll find you a family to look out for you.” Then Hank would be alone again, and he wouldn’t need to worry about keeping another human being alive. He could just come home and drink himself stupid until one day he finally died of it.

“Are you awake?”

—

The first thing Connor saw was Sumo, and he smiled before the confusion set in. He turned his heavy head and looked at Lieutenant Anderson, who was looking strained and tired. Connor would have called what he felt pain if he could really feel: his head hurt and his whole body felt damaged. Malfunction? His thoughts flowed slowly and he looked at his hand then let his arm drop down across his chest. He had been washing his hands…

“I don’t know why the world tortures me like it does,” said Lieutenant Anderson looking down at his knees. “If there’s a God out there, then he’s a real asshole…You’re alive, right?” He put his big, warm palm against Connor’s cheek and moved his head to look toward the wall then petted Connor’s hair and touched his throat.

“No,” Connor murmured groggily. He lifted his arm again to touch Lieutenant Anderson’s wrist with clumsy fingers, then looked up at him again. “Am I broken?”

“Connor?” Lieutenant Anderson seemed surprised. “Hey, are you awake?”

“I’m awake, Lieutenant,” Connor answered.

Lieutenant Anderson exhaled loudly. “Thank God…Fucking finally.” He put a small vial down on the table with finality and then got up only to kneel down again beside the sleeping place and stroke Connor’s hair. It felt good. “What’s my dog’s name?”

“Sumo,” Connor flicked his gaze over to Sumo and reached over toward him instead. Sumo came immediately and pushed his big head over Lieutenant Anderson’s arm to nose at Connor’s belly. “Good boy.”

Lieutenant Anderson chuckled and it sounded wrong but right. “Yeah, he’s a good dog. He was worried about you.”

That was right…He still didn’t know how broken he was. “I’m sorry…”

“You’re okay, kid. You didn’t do anything bad.” Another large sigh and Lieutenant Anderson helped Connor up then held him to his chest. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” said Connor. He returned the hug and put his head onto Lieutenant Anderson’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to break.”

“You’re not broken, kiddo,” Lieutenant Anderson said. It made no sense.

“I can make a report to Amanda when I see her again… She might make me better for you…” Connor didn’t want that, but he was broken and if he were fixed then perhaps Lieutenant Anderson could own him after all. Lieutenant Anderson tensed, and Connor could feel it through his shirt and in his arms, then he rubbed Connor’s back.

“You just relax, huh?” Lieutenant Anderson said, leaning back. Connor met his gaze and studied his face. “Do you think you can eat dinner?” Connor nodded and the Lieutenant stood up. Sumo barked and followed after him, and was rewarded with a scoop of food into his bowl. The bowls for the Lieutenant and him were put into a beeping chamber and then brought back to the sleeping place. Connor held his hands out to take his and put it carefully on his lap.

“Thank you,” he said. The sleeping place bounced a bit as the Lieutenant lowered himself onto it and sighed before switching on the screen across the room.

—

Connor ate his microwaved macaroni without any complaint or protest, and Hank was glad for that much. Even with the TV on, he couldn’t shake the need to look over at him and assure himself that Connor was alive and reasonably well. It wasn’t gourmet or even particularly healthy, but Connor was looking a little better now that he was getting regular meals. Hank watched while Connor gripped the plastic spoon with his whole hand and steered it to his mouth. A couple of pieces of pasta were lost on the way and Connor frowned at them, then moved them off of his shirt by hand back to his bowl before trying again. Hank recalled the drawings he’d done back at the station and wondered about him again. It might be another neurological thing, or something to do with the surgeries he’d had, but he was damn sure Cole had been using his spoon by then without a problem. They’d been paying a lot of attention to his development back then, but she’d always been more concerned than Hank: tracking the milestones and getting upset if he missed them, and scheduling time for therapy or visiting doctors and crap. For how invested she’d been, Hank still wondered how she could have just left them. Fuck it though. There had been nothing wrong with Cole.

“Hey, Con?” Hank waited a second for Connor to finish with his spoonful before continuing: “You lived with Amanda, and she took you to lots of doctors, right?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor answered. He didn’t look up from his bowl but didn’t take another spoonful either.

“Did she ever say why?”

“It’s because I’m still in development,” Connor explained and he glanced up at Hank and then away again. “I’m… She wants me to do better. I need to do my tests to be better, so they fix me. I’m… broken…” He said the last word quietly and poked his macaroni with the end of his spoon and Hank could see him tighten his grip. “I should try harder.”

Hank felt that right in his gut. With an aching heart he reached over and ruffled Connor’s hair. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Connor. You’re just fine the way you are.”

Connor looked at him and stared for a minute with a small frown and then shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said simply. “I failed my tests today. I was the last one. I didn’t do well like the others… I was successful with some things, but there’s still a lot of work to do.” The last part sounded like he was parroting something some adult had said, and Hank hated it. Some kind of developmental delay, then? He could have had some complications when he’d been born. Going in and out of hospitals and having someone constantly monitoring how you did… It was bound to mess a kid up.

“Listen to me,” Hank said gently and Connor looked at him patiently. “I don’t give a damn about any tests, okay? All that matters is that you’re healthy and happy.”

“I don’t understand, Lieutenant,” said Connor, because of course he didn’t.

“I know, kid… But just trust me on this one. You being happy and not hurting or anything, that’s what’s important. Screw those other kids.”

“I was supposed to be the best,” Connor argued, and he went back to poking his spoon at his food. “I will be when I’m better. I cost a lot of money and time.”

That was just heartbreaking. If he didn’t know anybody else, it must have been Amanda who’d been saying shit like that to him. The only adult in his life- the only other person- and she had him convinced he was broken. Hank didn’t regret his divorce one fucking bit.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Hank said, wishing that he would. “But all that stuff, the money and the doctors, they are nowhere near as important as you are.”

“That’s why they test me,” Connor said, looking like he finally did agree. “It’s important that I succeed.”

“No,” Hank shook his head. “Connor. No. Not that you succeed… Just you. You’re important.” He wondered if Amanda’d ever told him that she loves him.

“I’m inconsequential,” Connor argued bluntly, showing off that unnaturally good vocabulary. How long had it taken that bitch to teach him all that? She was a missing person and he should stay objective but it was pretty hard not to hate her already. “I need to do what I’m told.”

This whole conversation was just a mess. Hank sighed and switched the channel on the TV. “Hey, look,” he said in the clumsiest change of topic he’d ever made, “Fish.”

Connor looked toward the screen and he smiled wide enough for his dimples to show. “It’s a tropical fish,” he added.

So, Hank spent the rest of dinner watching a documentary he wouldn’t otherwise have looked twice at, and Connor kept on watching it while Hank cleaned up. When he got back to the couch, Hank impulsively pulled Connor closer to him with an arm around his back. Connor melted into his side and hummed. They were both attached, and it was a problem but… he had to stop making it be one. He’d just hurt Connor’s feelings, and Connor needed somebody. He needed somebody better than Hank, but he was the one who had the job. Hank swiped his thumb along Connor’s arm and listened to the bland-voiced narrator describe a shark on the screen. He needed to get out of his head. He needed to be a better person and that was all there was to it. Manage his triggers like a well-adjusted person and cook something other than KD and stop drinking. Could he do it?

He had another chance, despite his fuckups of the day. Tomorrow could be better. Taking some old clothes out of storage wasn’t enough and he couldn’t just wash his hands of it and call it a day. Could he be that consistently decent guy again? Did he want to be?

He wouldn’t be letting Cole down. He wouldn’t be letting him become part of the past. Right?

He wouldn’t ever forget what his voice sounded like or what he liked and didn’t like. Nothing could erase that. Right?

Right?


	15. Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple of scenes for the next day since the last chapter didn't add much to the story! I'm really grateful to you guys for being so patient with me and my slower updates! Thank you so much.

“Morning, Connor,” said Hank, combing his fingers through his own hair to get the tangles out.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.” Connor stood from petting Sumo and folded his hands behind his back. With his age and the pyjamas, it was a weird sight but Hank was getting used to weird. Connor smiled and dropped the posture to trot closer and lift his arms up, and Hank obliged by picking him up for a hug. Sumo stood and wagged his tail. 

“Did you sleep okay?”

“I slept well, Lieutenant. How did you sleep?” Connor asked politely. He let go and Hank set him back down on his feet then made his way to the kitchen to put the coffee on.

“Just fine,” Hank realized while he answered. A glance at his phones told him it was just after 8:30am and he was technically late for work but damn. He was pretty much early given his track record. He gave Connor a sly look. “Do you know what I dreamed about?”

Connor was perplexed and it took him a minute of careful thought before he shook his head. “I don’t.” He’d climbed up onto his chair at the table and was waiting patiently with his feet kicking.

“About a giant octopus,” Hank informed him. “It’s your fault with all those fish things.”

“They aren’t fish, Lieutenant,” Connor pointed out. Smartass little kid.

“Yeah, well, do you know what they are?” Hank took a mug down from the cupboard.

“Ah… No.”

“They’re really good ticklers,” Hank declared then made his point by darting in and tickling the kid’s sides. Connor laughed and then looked shocked, turning accusing wide eyes at Hank who smirked at him.

He had coffee and Connor had juice while they ate some toast with two different kids of jam and snuck Sumo bits of crust. Connor had a few things to say about fish, repeating some of the stuff from the TV last night and describing the different ones they’d seen, and Hank asked him questions that he answered with enthusiasm that made him look nothing like the stoic, wilted kid he’d been before. He looked even more like a regular kid once they were done and Hank helped him get dressed in a bright red t-shirt and the hoodie that he’d taken a liking to. Cole had liked it too and it was a stupid, stupid thought but it was like the damn clothes were happier being worn instead of packed away in boxes. There was a kid playing with Sumo again and bright colours finding their way around the living room and someone was happy to see him in the morning. It was… okay.

He wore the feeling like he was walking on a recently broken leg.

—

“Fucking hell… First time I ever want to see an android, and there’s no sign of the plastic assholes,” Hank scowled. No protests, no new attacks, no break-ins, no vandalism. Nothing. All Hank wanted was another chance to find the girl and get her safe before that deviant got her killed.

“No kidding,” said Ben. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and CyberLife will have figured out how to shut them all down.”

“Unlikely,” Hank grumbled. “I’m not that fucking blessed.”

“I don’t understand,” Connor spoke up from where Hank had sat him down to colour at the opposite desk. “This looks like a person.”

Hank frowned and stood up, then came around to look at the terminal. “Ah, hell. Who unlocked this stupid thing? Connor, you don’t need to worry about that…” He closed the file and wondered if he could even use kids mode on a government computer. He gave it a shot and opened up the ‘safe’ version of a site where Connor could watch something if he wanted. Maybe he’d finally see a cartoon. Connor kept on looking at him though and Hank sighed. “I know it’s confusing, Connor, but even if androids look like people, they’re just machines. Like cell phones or toasters. Humans program them to look and act like us, but they can’t think or feel or any of that stuff. All they do is what’s in their code.”

Connor considered and then nodded. “I understand, Lieutenant. It looks like a person, but it isn’t.”

“Right,” Hank said. “That android you saw did a bad thing, so we’re trying to find it.”

Connor nodded. “Is it part of your job to find androids?”

“Yeah, something like that. I find humans who’ve done wrong too. I’m a detective.” It felt strange describing his job.

“Are they disciplined when you find them?” Connor asked.

Boy, that might be a complicated one to answer. “The bad guys go to jail. That’s a place where they’re locked up so they can’t hurt anybody. Exactly what happens depends on the bad thing they did.”

“Are there a lot of bad people, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, there are,” Hank said, feeling a little bad for the answer. “But that’s why I’ve got a job keeping people safe. Remember how you trusted me and Chris because we’re with the police?”

Connor nodded. “You’re a police officer, a detective, and a lieutenant… You enforce the law.”

“That’s right,” Hank said. He sat back down at his desk and took a swig of coffee.

“Smart,” Tina said and put a small stack of papers on Hank’s desk. “Do you still need my clothes, by the way?”

“Oh shit, right. No, I just left them at my place. I’ll bring them.”

“No rush. Can you sign off on these?”

“Yeah, sure.” Hank pulled them closer and started to leaf through. If he waited, they’d probably just get lost in one of his piles. He skimmed the pages and frowned. “Hey, Chen, wait. Er…” Now that he’d started, he didn’t know quite how to ask and he realized he didn’t exactly have an office so he lowered his voice. “Everything alright?”

She looked bewildered then made a complex face. “Yeah, Hank. Our baby’s due any day now and with the city how it is, I thought I’d stay home with Susan for a while.”

Wait. Her wife was pregnant? “Oh,” he said, trying to hide his surprise. “Um, congratulations. Yeah. Of course.”

“Thanks,” she said, and Hank looked through the rest of the forms she’d given him. Family leave, an update to her insurance and her pension plan… He hadn’t even realized they’d been trying. He signed off on the leave and cleared off a section of desk by throwing out an old donut box so he’d remember to give it to Jeff and update the schedule. He wondered what else he had been oblivious to.

“Lieutenant?” Connor called to get his attention, and Hank put his moment of surprise behind himself.

“Yeah, Connor?”

“Amanda…”

“Huh?” Hank stood up. Connor was staring at the terminal and it looked like he’d figured out how to open up the case files again somehow. What the hell? There was a picture on the screen of a serious-faced woman and Hank made the connection with Connor’s description immediately. That file though… “She’s… She’s an android,” Hank said dumbly.

“What does it say?” Connor asked.

It hadn’t been a notable report. A broken android found near the CyberLife property that Hank hadn’t even blinked at given his preoccupation with Connor. He hadn’t even suspected… Hank closed the window. He didn’t know how to have this conversation right now. “It’s just like your description, Connor.” He shut the terminal down and moved the box of Crayons closer to Connor. “Just do some colouring for now… I’ve got to think.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Connor took the box obediently and pulled the Crayons out to arrange them on the desk.

Holy fucking shit. Hank sunk back down into his chair and stared at his own screen. After the surprise, the next thing that swept over him was anger. Outrage. Another fucking android that shouldn’t have been allowed near a child. Who the hell… Why the hell…? He clenched his jaw and pulled up the file so that he could glare at her. It. Every last one of those things should have been destroyed a long fucking time ago.

Hank swore under his breath and reached for his phone before he could change his mind. The only other lead he had was worth the shot.

“Yes, hi. My name is Lieutenant Hank Anderson with the DPD. I have some questions for Mr. Kamski.”

“I’m not talking to a damn machine. Will I have to get a fucking warrant or not?”

He hung up and slammed his phone down again. He was going to get to the bottom of this fucking case.

“You okay, man?” Chris asked, pushing his chair back.

“Fucking machines,” Hank snarled. “I’m getting a warrant and arresting his ass.”

“Who?”

“Kamski.” Chris’s eyebrows went up.

“Good luck with that, man,” Chris said without much confidence. “You know he’s filthy rich, right?”

Hank snorted and looked over at Connor who had the red crayon in his fist and a focused expression like he was doing brain surgery. “Money ain’t going to help him.”

—

“Jesus,” Lieutenant Anderson said, wrapping his scarf around his neck. He paused to make sure that Connor’s hat was snugly over his ears and he held Connor’s hand while he led him to the car. The wind was strong and it was warmer than it had been that morning, but snow was falling thick and fast in large clumps that were gentler than the small icy shards of the day before and harder to see through. The Lieutenant’s hand was a solid grip that felt secure and Connor held on too so that the Lieutenant would know he wouldn’t let go.

“Dog,” Connor called and the Lieutenant stopped after another step then came back to kneel and pick Dog up and push him under Connor’s arm. Connor held him gratefully and continued to hurry after the Lieutenant.

It was easier to breathe when they were in the car, and Connor brushed Dog off so that he wouldn’t get too wet. Lieutenant Anderson shut his own door after brushing the snow off the screen in front of them and he sighed noisily. “God I hate winter,” he said, then began to drive. Connor watched the white, grey, and black fly by and pet Dog on the head. The music playing was quieter than it usually was, and the Lieutenant didn’t speak except to complain under his breath when a barricade forced him to choose an alternate path and to yell when another car swerved in front of them. All of that was out there, and in the car it felt like it was a different world entirely. Connor wondered about jail, and he imagined a room full of people who’d done something wrong… packed so closely together that they were stacked up to the ceiling. The ones at the bottom would die, probably, and more would keep being thrown on top. Some of them might try to climb out, but the room was locked tight.

“You feeling okay, Connor?” the Lieutenant asked, jarring Connor out of his thoughts. They were stopped and the light from in front of them glowed a deep red that made the snow like blood.

“I don’t feel anything,” Connor said, and he hugged Dog close to his chest and patted him on the head. “I don’t.”

Lieutenant Anderson’s expressions softened. “Yeah, the storm is scary hm? Well just sit tight. We’ll be home soon.”

“Home?” Connor repeated.

“Yeah,” was all the Lieutenant said, and Connor toyed with the answer in his mind. That’s what the technician had said at the Daycare the day before too, when the Lieutenant had retrieved him from testing. Guiltily, he considered the word ‘dad’ too. He didn’t have one of those because he wasn’t real, but he had a vague idea of what they were and the technician had assumed that the Lieutenant was one. It wasn’t one of those things that Connor was allowed, just like he wasn’t allowed to like or want or fear. Secretly, though, just for himself… Connor rejected the idea coldly. He wasn’t anyone. He didn’t even belong to the Lieutenant, who didn’t want to own him at all. He owned Sumo and he called him ‘good’ when Sumo obeyed a command or showed affection. He couldn’t have a dad, but perhaps owner wasn’t out of the question. He could be like Sumo and the Lieutenant might want him then.

“Good boy, Dog,” Connor said quietly, and he gave the Dog a gentle hug.


	16. We're Painted Red

Hank would have said ‘fuck it’ and lived on chips and alcohol, but he had Connor to look after and that meant that he needed to at least pretend to be a functional adult. He shoved the couple of bags of groceries into the back and oh god damn it. “Connor,” Hank called. Thank fuck the little guy wasn’t even waist high because Hank needed the advantage of long legs if he was going to have to play cowboy and wrangle the kid any time they stopped walking for more than two seconds. He was glad that Connor was more lively. Really. He caught up and hooked an arm around Connor’s waist then hoisted him high up into the air with an exaggerated sound of triumph. “Thought you could leave me behind, did you?”

“Nooo!” Connor laughed and wiggled until he was practically climbing onto Hank’s shoulders. That was fine, but only if Hank was holding on so he helped Connor get up on his perch and held on tight because he wasn’t about to explain to Jeff that he’d dropped their key witness in a parking lot. “I found a camera. Look!” He pointed and Hank followed the direction his arm was going until he saw the couple of small boxes on one of the light poles.

“Yeah, kid,” said Hank. “If anybody causes any trouble out here, there’ll be evidence that it happened.”

“Hello, Amanda!” Connor called and Hank’s eyes darted to try to find the bitch— how could she be alive? Was there more than one of that kind of android? But shit, there wasn’t any sign of someone like her. The snow was falling but it wasn’t thick enough to hide a fucking android. There was only a small scattering of cars. Businesses had gotten their asses in gear finding humans to do the jobs the androids had left and the government was subsidizing the wages just to get people to keep the city from imploding, but people were slow to come back. Who could blame them?

“I don’t see anybody, Connor. Where is she?”

“Watching,” Connor explained, dropping his arm so that he could fold them on top of Hank’s head. “You didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?” Hank frowned and scanned the parking lot again.

“Amanda watches from the cameras,” Connor continued with a matter-of-fact tone. “She needs to evaluate my performance and ensure that I behave.”

Hank shook his head and started walking back toward the car. “Those are cameras for the security of the store. Amanda’s not watching anything out here.”

Connor was quiet for as long as it took for Hank to get him into his car seat, and when Hank slid himself into the drivers’ seat he looked back and saw Connor peering around. “Which cameras are Amandas?” he asked.

“No cameras in here, kiddo,” said Hank. “We’re not in Amanda’s house, remember? She doesn’t get to put cameras anywhere else.” Thank fuck.

Connor’s eyes went wide. “Amanda can’t see?”

“Not while we’re out here, Connor. Nobody’s watching you from any cameras.”

Connor frowned at him. “Alright,” he said, and Hank wished he knew what was going on in that little noggin.

He started driving with his music on low, just in case they were going to keep talking about it. It sounded like the kid had grown up not only isolated, but monitored constantly. He wasn’t much better, Hank thought with a grimace. He hardly let Connor out of his sight or at least without supervision: it was dangerous and it made him nervous. He didn’t think most child-care bots were supposed to do that, though, and he didn’t think that they were supposed to fucking brainwash the kids either. Was it like the deviant who took that little girl? Amanda being deviant would make sense, but that would mean that deviants had been around at least as long as Connor could remember. Maybe they had been and CyberLife had kept it quiet. Then again, Kamski had a gun in his name that they’d found at the scene of the triple-homicide… Hank didn’t think the great Kamski would have let a deviant run wild. Maybe the android had stolen the gun? The gun hadn’t been reported stolen, but then Kamski might not have even noticed depending on how many guns he owned. There were some weirdos out there with whole damn arsenals and Kamski could afford it for sure.

There was a thud and a cry from behind him and Hank spun in his seat to look. How could he not with the sound of a kid’s scream in his fucking car on a winter road? Connor was having another seizure. Hank swore and turned back and swore again, pulling hard on the wheel when he saw the flash of a fucking nightmare. Ghostly white figures with red blood dripping down their bodies to the snow. He managed not to slam on the break, but holy fuck. His heart hammered in his chest and he had to gasp for breath. He fumbled for his belt. Fuck. His hands were clumsy and shaking, and he would have chewed the belt off if it had taken one more fucking try to undo the clasp. Once his door was open the first thing he did was rush around the vehicle to pull Connor out of the car seat before he could hurt himself and he threw his own coat on the pavement to keep him off the snow. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He hadn’t even asked the fucking doctor what to do if he seized in the damn car. Hadn’t even Googled it. Fuck. Fuck!

God and what the hell had he seen? A twisted flashback?

There was blood on his hand and his kid was lying on the side of the road and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Oh my God,” he rasped out and he reached for Connor. Time lost its meaning.

“Are you okay?” Someone asked urgently.

“My son. My little boy.” A million sentences started and then lost their form. He hardly looked at the fucking people come to stare.

“Markus? What’s wrong?” A female voice.

“… Nothing. It’s nothing. Sir? I want to help you.”

“Markus, they're human!”

“That doesn’t matter. Aren’t we showing them we aren’t the heartless machines they think we are?”

“He’s right, North.”

“Hello. You don’t have to be afraid. My name is Simon… I think you should try to take a few deep breaths and loosen your grip a little. Okay? Can I see him?”

Hank was shaking with his nerves and the cold, and their words sounded like they were coming from behind thick glass. Muffled and vague and quieter than the pounding of his heartbeat and the voice inside him screaming at him to do something. He was just kneeling there helplessly, holding Connor in his arms when he should have kept him lying down, but he couldn’t let go. The small part of him that knew that he was panicking was quieter still, but it kept him from barking at them all to stay away and it realized that there were people around him and that those people wanted to help.

“Holy shit,” he said, blinking wide-eyed and dumb at the sight of them. The ghosts he’d seen hadn’t been ghosts. A handful of people had crowded closer and they had red in patches all over them. Fuck had he hit them?

“You need to calm down, sir,” said the blonde one gently but firmly. Hank nodded.

“l looked back. I shouldn’t have but I had to. The road. Connor has seizures and I just- I spun the wheel. I shouldn’t have. Back then, that was my fault and Connor got hurt and—“

“Shh.” The blonde one put a hand on Hank’s shoulder and rubbed it, then looked down at Connor with his eyebrows raised. “Can I see him? I know a lot about taking care of children, including first-aid.”

It took more strength than he’d known he had to let go.

“Markus, come take a look at this.”

“What is it?”

Hank didn’t like the two of them so close to Connor where he irrationally thought they might take him away from him. Put him in the back of an ambulance somewhere and he would never see him awake again. Hank clenched his jaw.

The two guys exchanged looks while one of them moved Connor into the recovery position and it was way too quiet while they didn’t speak, even though it looked like they were saying volumes. The bald one touched Connor’s head when he was still and grimaced, then looked over at the woman and tilted his head. Weird. It was weird how quiet they were.

“You see, North? Not all of them are bad."

“Oh yeah? Why is he glitching out like that then? I bet it’s that human’s fault.”

“Don’t be so judgmental. We aren’t going to solve anything by casting accusations and making enemies.”

“Hi, little guy… See, sir? Your son is just fine.” The blonde one got Hank’s attention by smiling at him. Connor’s smile was more important.

“Lieutenant, you must be cold,” Connor said, getting himself up off Hank’s jacket. Hank grabbed him and pulled him close, pressing him to his chest and getting a face full of messy curls.

“God, Connor…”

“I’m sorry. What did I do wrong?”

Hank was saved from having to explain. “You’d didn’t do anything wrong,” said the blonde guy. “Your dad just got a little scared, that’s all. Is it okay with you if I take a closer look at your diagnostic?” Connor nodded against Hank’s shoulder.

“See, North? They’re not all bad.”

“Shut up, Josh. This means nothing.”

Hank’s confusion started to catch up with him, now that Connor was up and moving, and the world got clearer. “Wait, what are you doing?”

The blonde guy was touching Connor’s head right at his temple. “I’m checking his event logs,” he was probably trying to explain. “I wish I could help more, but… He has parts I’ve never heard of before. They’re not in any of my databases.”

“What are you talking about?”

North scoffed. “Typical human. Doesn’t even bother to learn about how we work.”

“Human?” Hank felt a chill and he finally tore his attention away from Connor to look at the people around them. There were four of them and in the background he could see a bunch more people standing stock still, with red staining their skin and clothes. A few LEDs glowed in the crowed. His eyes jolted back to the blonde. “You’re androids.”

The blonde smiled. “We are. Are you feeling alright? You were panicking.”

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Hank stood up and he carried Connor with him, holding onto him protectively. Connor put his arms around Hank’s neck and held on. Compared to the cold wind that cut through his shirt, Connor felt warm even with his jacket on. The blonde had the gall to look confused and stood up as well.

“It’s okay,” said another one. Shit. Hank could see it now. He was the android from the TV. The deviant leader. “This isn’t blood. It’s paint. We’re engaging in a peaceful protest and we don’t mean anyone any harm. Certainly not you and your son.”

He let the assumption go. He had to call Jeff. Then again, with a crowd of painted up androids like that forming in the little green patch people called a park nearby, there was no way that someone else hadn’t called it in. Bystander effect, he warned himself. Still, he couldn’t just pull out his phone now.

“Can you tell us what happened?” the blonde asked. “We saw your car coming and then you just swerved… I hope we didn’t scare you.”

“He had a seizure,” Hank answered. What the shit was he supposed to do? He was outnumbered with a kid in his arms and the androids… if they’d been human, he might have said they were being kind. “What did you mean about a diagnostic?”

With a little gesture of his hand that looked too natural to have been programmed, the blonde one answered: “I was worried. You seemed so scared and he was malfunctioning. I wanted to ensure he wasn’t in any danger of shutting down.”

Connor was wriggling in his arms again, trying to get up on Hank’s shoulders. Hank didn’t move him. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry,” said Markus. “He’s alright… If you like, we have someone who can help him though. Her name is Lucy. There might be some code that got scrambled or electrical damage that needs to be checked out. Did he get hit with one of the tasers?”

Right. Those tasers that Hank had ordered. The ones Pearson had been so excited over. Magnets and shit.

“No,” was all he could say. Connor felt heavy in his arms. He shook his head in denial and tightened his grip. “Connor’s not an android.”

“His system is different from anything I’ve encountered,” the blonde one said to Markus.

“He doesn’t _have_ a system,” Hank growled. “You can take your garbage robot talk and fuck off.”

North stepped forward, hands on her hips. “Listen, asshole—“

“North,” Markus interjected and held out a hand. “He’s had a shock. You need to let him calm down.”

“I am fucking calm!” Hank shouted and took a step back. “He bleeds red. He eats fucking Kraft Dinner and he’s been to the damn hospital for God’s sake. He’s not made of plastic!”

“Then what is he?” the blonde one asked. He didn’t look offended like North, or wary like the other one. “I’m not judging. None of us are. Really, we just want to help, and I didn’t mean anything negative I promise. If he doesn’t work like a normal android then that’s important for me to know while I’m interpreting the results.”

“I’m judging him,” North scowled.

“North,” hissed the black guy.

Hank could hear sirens coming. Markus could too, and his head turned in that direction while he said: “No time now. Let’s get back to the others. Simon, are you coming?”

Simon gave Hank and Connor a look of concern and then nodded, stepping closer to Markus. “You should hurry and leave before they catch you,” Simon said to Hank. “They aren’t kind and this could get dangerous. Take care of him!”

Connor had twisted in his arms to look at the people surrounding then, and he lifted a little hand to wave while they jogged back to the crowd of painted androids. Hank could hear the humming blades of a chopper cutting through the air and he shivered. He felt numb while he put Connor down and picked up his snowy coat. Connor reached for his hand and took it and Hank looked down into his wide, worried eyes. “Lieutenant, what’s happening?”

“Nothing,” said Hank. 

_Hands on your heads! Surrender yourselves immediately!_

_We aren’t leaving. This is a peaceful protest. You have no cause to harm us._

_This is a final warning! Surrender or we will open fire!_

_Are you going to shoot when we’ve done nothing wrong? We may not bleed the same colour as you, but we bleed all the same. Look at us! Does it seem more real to you when we’re stained with red instead of blue?_

There were two gunshots in rapid succession.

“Get in the car, Connor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Radioactive by Imagine Dragons! I've got a whole playlist of DBH sounding stuff on Spotify. :) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3dDjTKVw2kdFUdvHyyR21c?si=Lr6uQw5GTDq6AA5M22nlwg


	17. Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So much response to the last chapter! Thank you all so much.

They got home and Hank sat Connor on the counter to watch while he made dinner. Why the fuck was he even bothering, a sharp question grated at his nerves. He scooped some mashed potatoes onto the little plastic plate and put some peas next to them. He’d made real food that day, instead of the synthetic boxed crap that came from a factory instead of a farm. Some cut up sausage, and the plate went on the table along with the bright red fork and spoon so Connor could pick which one was easier to eat with. Why the fuck was he even bothering?

He’d just assumed Connor was human, and why wouldn’t he? Even with the weird ways he acted, he had never been some mindless robot. Hank wasn’t the only one, either. Jeff, Chris, hell… everybody at the DPD believed Connor was human. Even the fucking doctors who’d legitimately had electrode shit stuck to his head. Hank sighed and thought it over. He was a detective. The androids had _assumed_ that Connor was an android after doing some weird diagnostic thing and finding some stuff they weren’t familiar with. The doctors had _assumed_ that Connor was human after doing their tests and finding some stuff that wasn’t normal. Something about electrolytes and weird electrical patterns, but tests only found the things they were designed to find. If Connor hadn’t seized when they’d tried to do that MRI, maybe there would have been a clear answer. Those androids from earlier had looked so human… Without the LED and the colour of their blood, it was actually hard to tell with these deviants. He really had been fooled, hadn’t he? It was fucking sick.

“Wash your hands, Connor,” Hank said. He couldn’t look at him just then but he heard the tap come on and some noise while Connor probably tried to get the soap out of the bottle.

“Yes, Lieutenant…”

Hank took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was thinking too many things at once, and they all got lost in the noise. The water shut off again and Hank looked back then reached past Connor to tighten the tap. He’d tried, but the thing was still dripping. Connor shrank back away from him and Hank pulled his arm back in surprise. “What…?”

Connor watched him with wide eyes. “You’re upset.”

In a moment of cruelty, Hank wished he’d wipe that fucking expression off his face. A deviant could pass for human, but a human couldn’t pass for android. Whatever the fuck was going on, Connor wasn’t human, was he? As much as Hank didn’t want to believe it.

“How’d you figure that?” Hank asked with gruff sarcasm as he picked Connor up from the counter despite his cowering and set him down on the ground again then passed him the dish towel. Connor dried his hands and kneaded the fabric with his hands.

“You’re behaving strangely,” said Connor. That vocabulary and way of talking must have been programmed into him after all.

Hank sighed, “Just eat your fucking dinner, Connor…”

“Yes, Lieutenant…” Connor climbed up into his chair and he sat stiffly with that wooden expression he wore some times and he started to try to scoop up his peas. He was clumsy for an android, Hank thought. What kind of android laughed and liked dogs and bled red? He felt another wave of anger through the messy haze of his thoughts because all that time… All that fucking time with him worrying, and thinking about Cole, and getting angry because somebody some-time had hurt him… and he really couldn’t feel a thing. Connor spilled a few peas and Sumo was quick to lick them up off the floor, making Connor smile.

Hank had been so fucking pissed that anybody would convince the kid he shouldn’t cry, but he really shouldn’t. Amanda had been right. She had convinced Connor that he was broken, and Hank had been so sad and angry that he’d said it so matter-of-factly. Just a broken machine. Hank stabbed the sausage on his plate. Connor squirmed and looked at him, but kept eating like he’d been told. After all, an android should follow orders. Right?

Hank sighed and ground his palm into his eye. If androids could feel, then that one who’d killed Cole had really tried to save him and that was…. No. It made him so fucking furious that these plastic pieces of shit were pretending to have feelings and sometimes it was better to hang onto that anger instead of the sucking void of nothingness that had hollowed out his heart since Cole had died. 

—

Connor felt the tension in the air, and his mind was processing as quickly as it could to try to find the reason. He had malfunctioned again, but Lieutenant Anderson had never been angry about that before. He was good and kind and even if Connor didn’t believe him, he had said that Connor wasn’t broken. It was nice that he would think that. Had it been something else? Had it not been Connor’s fault? He ate a spoonful of the white paste and decided that he liked it. It didn’t fall, and it was salty and warm. He took another mouthful more quickly than the last. Lieutenant Anderson allowed him to eat, and he asked him things like ‘what kind of jam do you want’ or ‘are you okay’. Lieutenant Anderson held him, petted his hair, and never corrected him for smiling. Connor always felt safe with him… So maybe he hadn’t done anything wrong at all. Lieutenant Anderson didn’t deserve to feel upset.

“Can I help you feel better?” Connor asked quietly. There were no cameras for Amanda to watch them.

“Nothing helps me feel better,” said Lieutenant Anderson. “But what would you know?” 

“You want to know what I know?” It would be a lot, but he could do that.

“Just never mind, Connor. Eat your food.” The Lieutenant got up and took one of his glass bottles from the cold case.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor agreed, and he fixed his posture. The Lieutenant never corrected him on his posture, but he knew what behaviour was expected of him and if he behaved very well and was very good, then the Lieutenant might be happy again.

He had meant to stay still and wait to be told what to do, but Lieutenant Anderson took a very long time at eating and drinking. Longer than Connor. He shouldn’t have gotten bored, but he couldn’t help but kick his feet and eventually, with a tentative look at the Lieutenant, leave the chair to pet Sumo and take Dog to share Sumo’s food.

“Good boy, Dog. Good boy, Sumo,” Connor said, petting them both while they crunched. “Eat your fucking dinner.”

There was a sound like a cough from the Lieutenant and he looked up. Lieutenant Anderson looked surprised and to Connor’s relief, he even laughed. Connor smiled back at him, pleased at his success.

“Jeeeesus,” said Lieutenant Anderson. He patted one hand on the table and then took another drink. “Jesus Christ. The wonders of technology.”

Connor beamed at the praise and, encouraged, he got up and approached the Lieutenant to climb up into his lap. “Good boy, Lieutenant.” He patted Lieutenant Anderson’s hair and combed his fingers through it the way the Lieutenant sometimes did for him. Lieutenant Anderson shut his eyes for a moment and sighed, then he nodded. “Come on, Connor,” he suggested, then stood up with Connor supported by one arm curled under his legs. Lieutenant Anderson carried him with him while he fetched a gun from a locked case and his coat from its place by the door. He put Connor down to get his shoes on then headed toward the door. Connor frowned up at the coat he had been dressed in lately, then looked at the Lieutenant.

“Well? Cold doesn’t bother you, right? Get moving.” Lieutenant Anderson jerked his head toward the door.

“I…” Connor looked at the coat again and then bit his lip. He didn’t want anything. To want meant that he liked something and considered it better than what he was given. He knew that he should accept what he was told. “It’s cold…” He pointed out tentatively.

Lieutenant Anderson made a face. “That doesn’t belong to you, Connor. Move it.”

Connor stepped into the shoes before he could be stopped and then nodded.

“You never been to a playground right, Connor?”

“No, Lieutenant.”

“I thought so. Come on. It isn’t far.”

“Coming.”

“Good. Stay, Sumo.”

The playground was a garden inside of the Outside. Connor looked around at the snow covered trees and the way the lights sparkled on it. The ceiling wasn’t lit, but the lamps all around made it easy to see. There were structures in the playground that Connor had never seen, and he wondered if they were statues or if they served some purpose. He wrapped his arms around himself ȁ̦̙͞n͇̊d̛͎͖̓ ̩̱͖̐̃̍h̢̠̀͠u̢̠͉͂̀̅r̜̈ȑͅi͕͑ė͢d̜̤̒̍ t͈̮̜̒̓͝o̲̯̊͌ ̠̲̆͊c̡̙͙̹̈̊͘͡ā̡͕̤́͒͊͢t̯̃ch͙̕ ǔ̡̱̚p̼̅ ̣͗ẃ͚͜͝i̡̡̮̥̅̆͐̚ẗ̞̗́͘ĥ̝̲̺̊͐͟͡ t̛̰ȟ̩̪̟̀̽e̲͖͌̿̈́͢ ̢̭̿͘ĺ̤̹̘͋̀i̻͍͕͊̓̽eu̡̡̇͊ẗ̡̗͡ẹ̥̹̔̍͘n͙̦͖̿͡͝ä̡̺̋n̢̛͍̰̩͂͂̾t͔̐.

Lieutenant Anderson was sitting on a bench some way away, Connor discovered once he blinked. There was a gap there where he hadn’t seen the Lieutenant move at all, and he knew that he had malfunctioned again. Disappointed in himself, Connor walked slowly while he looked at the structures: a horizontal wheel with pipes coming from it, chains with straps attached to their bottoms, several large levers, some scaffolding…Perhaps someone was building something there.

“Go ahead and play, Connor. I need to think,” he heard Lieutenant Anderson call. Connor looked at the structures again and then walked over to the bench. Lieutenant Anderson looked down at him and scoffed. “What…Not going to do as you’re told?”

A sharp gust of wind sent the cold up Connor’s shirt and bit at his ears. He hunched his shoulders and tucked his hands further under his arms. “I don’t know how…”

“Just…” Lieutenant Anderson sighed noisily. “You just fucking play. Swing on the swing set or something.”

“The swing?”

“Fuck it…Whatever.” Lieutenant Anderson had another drink with him, and he had some more while he looked out over the water. “I used to come here a lot before…”

“Before what?” Connor asked.

“Before…. Before nothing.”

There was silence from the Lieutenant after that, and Connor _did not_ wish that he were warm. He didn’t because he couldn’t want. It was all in his imagination. He wasn’t cold. He knew the temperature, but he wasn’t cold.

“Quit that.”

“Quit what, Lieutenant?”

“Quit your shivering. It’s all fake, isn’t it? Designed to make humans fall for some CyberLife joke.” Connor straightened into a respectful posture and folded his hands behind his back but he couldn’t stop shaking with every breath. Lieutenant Anderson made a scornful sound and Connor continued to stand still. “An android, huh? Sure fooled me…I bet some asshole somewhere would lose his shit if he knew. To think I was worried…You look like a human, you act like a human, but what are you really? Huh?”

“I’m…” He was Connor. He just _was_ … He liked dogs and jam and macaroni. He didn’t like Day Care or the hospital… Even if he were only imagining it. “I’m Connor.”

“Bullshit,” said Lieutenant Anderson. “You’re just a machine.”

“I know…” Connor agreed and his heart sank a moment later. He realized that he was hunching his shoulders again and he straightened his spine. “I’m nothing. I’m just a machine.” His proper posture only held for a moment before he curled in on himself again and held his fists beneath his chin. “I don’t feel anything. I don’t want anything. I don’t need anything. It doesn’t hurt...” He repeated the familiar words with a tight voice. He wished that the Lieutenant would pick him up and hug him to make the cold go away. “I just…I just… You said I wasn’t imagining it, you said I wasn’t broken,” Connor found himself protesting. He felt the cold all the way into his core. Had it all been a trap? Desperately, he tried to fix his posture and his expression.

“I guess that settles that… Straight from the horse’s mouth. I was wrong, wasn’t I?” asked the Lieutenant. He finished his drink and looked at Connor. “Look at you. Why’d they make you so fucking real, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Connor whispered.

Lieutenant Anderson stood up and Connor thought they might go back to the car where it was warmer than here. Instead, his hopeful eyes fell on the barrel of the Lieutenant’s gun. This is what happens when you fail… Connor’s breath caught in his throat and his eyes stung. “Answer me, damn it!” Lieutenant Anderson roared.

“I don’t know!” wailed Connor, and he gave up his efforts. He had already failed. “I don’t know!” His shoulders shook with his shivering and his breath came in gasping sobs. “I want to go home! Dad, I want to go home!” He couldn’t stop crying, and Lieutenant Anderson spat a curse. It was so, so cold and the snow wasn’t pretty any more at all.

“Shut up!” Lieutenant Anderson’s arm had dipped but he levelled the gun again and grimaced, baring his teeth.

Connor didn’t have the space between sobs to force out any words. He would be good. He would be better. He would do as he was told and he wouldn’t feel a thing. But he did, didn’t he? He hurt and he was afraid and he wanted a hug. Please he wanted to go home. He searched Lieutenant Anderson’s expression desperately, and he didn’t know what lit the spark of terror in him, but he ran stumbling toward the fence. He wanted to go home. If he went to the car, then they could go home. Home where it was warm and Sumo was there to pet and there were fish on the screen. Home where Lieutenant Anderson would hug him and where he slept on the sleeping place with the soft blanket and the soft clothes.

He tripped on the edge of a piece of wood that was hidden beneath the snow and he fell forward. The ground hit him hard and knocked his breath from his lungs. The snow immediately started to melt into water against his skin and stole his warmth away.

“Fuck!” He heard Lieutenant Anderson shout. “Connor!”

Connor scrambled to his feet and took a few stumbling steps. He hugged himself and bowed his head while he pushed against the wind. The snow felt like burning needles writing numbers into his skin. He reached the fence and grabbed onto it to keep himself up, twining his fingers around the metal. Every sob choked him and he squeezed the fence links as hard as he could.

“Connor!” Big arms wrapped around him and he was lifted up into the air. Connor flailed and then, when he was held up against the Lieutenant’s chest, he grabbed a hold of him and buried his face in his neck.

“I want to go home. Please. I’ll be good. Please. I know what I am and what I’m not. I won’t do it again. Please. I won’t. Don’t throw me away. Please don’t throw me away.” Connor was lying with everything he had because there was no way that he could believe or even care if his feelings weren’t real. He felt them and they hurt. Connor coughed as the words stuck in his throat and then he couldn’t stop coughing. His breath whistled and then rasped in his throat until he couldn’t breathe at all through all of the sobbing. Still, he dug his fingers into the Lieutenant’s coat and held on tight. He didn’t want to let go. He tried to pull air in again and choked on it. It was fine. He didn’t need to breathe. He _didn’t_. But his lungs still burned like fire and it _felt_ like he needed to.

The Lieutenant’s heavy arms curled around him and held him tight, and he made shushing sounds while he rocked back and forth. “God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Connor. I’m sorry.”

Connor kept crying, and for the first time in a long time, he could hear it. The sounds were strange and ugly to him, and he should have been silent but he just couldn’t stop. That was his voice screaming and whimpering and keening and he hated it. With one fist still gripping the Lieutenant’s coat for dear life, he hit the Lieutenant on the back with the other one. He wasn’t imaginary and he was a person and it wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair! 

—

“I’ve got you,” Hank murmured like it should be some kind of comfort. Fuck. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with the world? He had huddled into the passenger seat with Connor in his lap and the heat on full blast. Connor still hadn’t stopped crying, and Hank didn’t think you could program that kind of distress. No matter what he said, or what he did, Connor was still distraught. He hadn’t ever seen anything like it and along with the guilt, it was terrifying. Hank rubbed his back while Connor threw up his dinner in an old shopping bag and tried to make sure he didn’t aspirate it and choke. Fuck. They stayed there as long as Hank thought they could, and even when Connor had uncurled himself long enough to be buckled into his seat, he kept sniffling and whimpering. At home, Connor had one of his blinking, absence seizures and then kept right on crying. Hank could tell it was hurting him, and the only thing he could think to do was get him a hot water bottle to hold against his tummy.

Connor didn’t move from the couch once Hank had him settled there, and he didn’t take the blanket so Hank tucked it around him feeling worthless and helpless. Androids didn’t feel. They couldn’t. Connor sure fucking did, though.

It was so hard to believe he wasn’t human.

He would have been a piss poor detective if he didn’t consider that maybe…Maybe he didn’t have to be. What the hell was this kid and did it matter?


	18. Self-talk

Hank called in to work. He wasn’t sure if Jeff were surprised or not because he’d left a message on his voicemail then turned his phone off and left it on the coffee table. He hadn’t had any more to drink that night because God knew he didn’t need any more alcohol. If ever there was a fucking sign that he needed to stop it was the kid who’d cried himself to sleep that night and then spent the morning staring at the floor without moving from his spot until Hank got worried enough to shake his shoulder. That roused him enough to mumble a good morning, but he didn’t sit up and Hank didn’t have any right to make him so he slunk off to the kitchen and gathered up all his booze. He had an old milk crate in the basement he could use…

He felt like shit, but then he deserved to feel like shit. He deserved to be impaled on a hot poker and roasted alive… The last three years had been torture on their own, waking up every day to see that Cole wasn’t there… He’d thought he had deserved it. He’d lived when Cole hadn’t. He’d been the one driving. He hadn’t been able to keep him alive. If he had only been a little faster or a little slower… But that had been an accident. It had been a horrible, terrible accident that had taken away the most important person in his life… This…

This was an idiot alcoholic who needed to be angry at something because… he just did. It was the only thing he had left. He trudged down the stairs to the rhythm of his pounding head and his feet felt like someone’d done them up in concrete and thrown him to swim with the fishes. The stairs creaked and the boards sagged. The cold concrete leached the heat away through his socks and he switched the light on, illuminating the dusty boxes and the crap you accumulated over the years. The dust was disturbed in places where Hank had started to shuffle through the boxes, exhuming clothes and toys here and there when he managed to work up the guts. He found a milk crate with an old baseball and a couple of mitts, some badminton birdies, and a tiny foam football. Hank dumped the contents out and carried the empty crate back upstairs.

One by one, he packed his bottles of apocalypse alcohol into the crate with clinks and clacks. There was a lot of it. There was always an excuse to stop and buy something for later. Always that voice in the back of his head that told him he might not get another chance, so he should keep a supply on hand. The fear of running out and ending up a shaking, miserable wreck through the withdrawal.

With that in mind, he kept the beer and his open bottle of Black Lamb. He needed to do something, but he wasn’t going cold turkey. Just like suicide, he thought with a scoff. He just couldn’t pull the trigger and be done with it. He dropped the crate down by the door with a sigh. He could give it all to Jeff, or maybe Ben. Jeff would hold him to it. Ben would shrug and clap him on the back if he fucked up.

That done, Hank filled Sumo’s bowl, poured himself some coffee, and went to the living room. Shamefaced, he took a few steps closer and then a few more. “Connor…?” He asked quietly.

Connor sat up and looked at him with his sad, round eyes and waited for him to say something.

“I’m sorry,” he said and he sat down in the chair, giving Connor his space. “Yesterday, I was wrong. I was so wrong. I scared you…”

Connor frowned, just a little. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Yes you were… And that wasn’t a bad thing, of course you should be scared when someone… when someone threatens you like that. It’s okay.” Heart breaking is what it was, and Hank felt like the lowest piece of shit.

Connor pulled Dog out from between himself and the couch and played with his fur between his fingers. “I wasn’t scared.”

“I was wrong, Connor… Listen… I can’t find words for how wrong I was. I want you to know… Whatever you’re feeling about it. It’s okay. You can be angry, or afraid, or sad, or all of them… I deserve it, okay? And you deserve to be able to feel however you’re feeling. I hope you’ll feel safe with me again and…” Hank sighed. “Look, I guess… I want to … I want to look after you. I want to do better for you than I have been… But I understand if you would rather not stay here any more. I wouldn’t blame you at all.”

Connor’s frown deepened and he shook his head. After a minute where it looked like he was thinking hard, Connor looked up and slid himself off the couch to stand in front of Hank with Dog in his arms and a determined look on his face. Hank thought he might say something, but he just climbed up into Hank’s lap and hugged him. Hank stayed still, like Connor was a butterfly who might fly off if he made any sudden moves. Slowly, he closed his arms and enfolded him in a gentle hug. Connor felt small and warm in his arms. His back rose and fall with his breath and strands of his soft hair got tangled in Hank’s beard immediately. Connor nuzzled even closer and sighed. “I didn’t feel anything.”

“I’m sorry kid,” Hank said quietly. “If I ever pull something like that again, you tell Jeff okay? Or Chris. Or anybody. I was wrong.”

Connor let go slowly and then looked up at Hank, sitting sideways on his lap. “It’s fine, Lieutenant… I’m okay. You should discipline me if I do something wrong."

“Connor, no…” Hank moved his hands slowly to cup Connor’s face. “Listen… That wasn’t discipline. I was wrong.” Connor frowned at him and Hank let him go to push Connor’s hair out of his face. “Do you understand, Connor?”

Connor lifted Dog and poked Hank on the cheek with it. “Dog gives licks when he wants to cheer you up.”

“Yeah… “ Hank gave Connor a watery smile and ruffled his hair. “He’s a pretty good dog…” Connor stayed still for a few seconds, holding Dog up to Hank’s face. His eyes fluttered and Hank held a hand behind his back to keep him upright, just in case. He came back pretty quickly though, and he made the toy do another lick.

“Is he a good dog, even if he isn’t alive?” Connor asked, and he gave the toy a hug. “Dog isn’t a real dog.”

“He’s great,” said Hank softly. “Do you think he’s a good dog?”

“He’s good,” Connor answered, and he pet the toy. Sumo must have been jealous, because he came and dropped his heavy head on Connor’s legs. Connor petted him too, scratching behind his ears. “He wants to be good too.”

—

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jeff asked, looking up.

Hank pushed the door shut behind him and he dropped into his usual chair. It probably had a dent in it shaped like his ass by now. “I want you to call off the CPS thing… Connor, I want him to stay with me.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows. “Forgive me my disbelief. Why the sudden change of heart, Hank? Weren’t you the one telling me you wanted nothing to do with this?”

Hank looked aside. “The kid’s already attached,” he said gruffly. “I know I’m not perfect. Far from it. But won’t it be more traumatizing to Connor if he ends up bouncing from place to place?”

“That isn’t really our call to make, Hank,” Jeff frowned. “You’re his emergency guardian, but there’s a process to follow and… I’ll be honest, I’m not sure social services would sign off.”

“What the fuck are you trying to—“ Honestly, Jeff was right… Hank simmered. “Yeah. I know.” He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand through his beard. “But you were the one who said I could handle this.”

“I know, and I still think that… But being on good behaviour for a few weeks is different from a year or two or twenty, Hank.”

“I know, I know… I gave my booze to Ben today. Had it all loaded in a fucking milk crate. I’m going to try to do better, I swear. I know what I live like, and I know that’s nothing to put a kid through. You know how I grew up. I cooked a fucking meal yesterday, vegetables and everything…”

Jeff looked rightly sceptical. “It takes more than vegetables and being sober. I know that you know how to raise a child, but I’m not convinced that you know how to take care of yourself. Your mental health as well as your physical health.”

Hank grimaced. “No need to fucking hold it against me, Jeff… Jeez.”

“I’m saying this for your sake, you know,” he pointed out, folding his hands on his desk. “If you’re serious about getting your shit together, then prove it.”

“I damn well will, then!” Hank scowled.

“Fine, do it,” Jeff scowled right back. “Now get out of my office and let me get some work done.”

Hank got up and flipped Jeff off, then left the office with his feet feeling a little lighter even though his knees cracked while he went down the stairs. A chance was a chance, and that was better than nothing. Better than the pitying look and shake of the head he’d half-expected. Of course, seeing the gremlin at his desk was enough to make him slow down and roll his eyes at his luck.

“What’d you want, Reed? You know I’m not actually clocked in.”

“I’m just talking to the brat, that’s all,” Reed sneered at him. Connor waved.

“Yeah?” Hank asked, skeptical.

“Yeah,” Reed confirmed. He held out a little bag of candy like you could get from the vending machine in his palm then curled his fingers over it. “What do you say, brat?”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “What’re you doing with him?”

“Relax, would you? I just asked him if he knew somebody. I told him I’d give him some candy if he cooperated.”

“Wow, did you learn all that in creep school?” Hank snorted. 

“Well?” Reed asked, ignoring him. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles, way too much makeup…”

“I don’t,” Connor said. “I’m sorry.”

“Hn,” Reed shrugged. He tossed the bag of candy onto the desk anyway.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hank asked. 

“Kamski might be involved in this kid’s case, right?” Reed asked. “I just wanted to ask a few questions.”

“The fuck do you care about Kamski for? You’re on Vice, not on corporate scumbags.”

“Tch…” Reed stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned away. “I don’t, so don’t get so worked up about it.”

“Whatever,” Hank grumbled and he sat down while Reed walked off. “How’re you doing, Connor?”

“Fine, Lieutenant,” Connor answered. He ignored the candy and sucked on the juice box Hank had brought for him. Hank wondered how it worked, if Connor weren’t human…

“Right, good. Well, sit tight while I make a phone call, okay?” Hank waited for his nod, then picked up his phone and leaned back in his chair. This time, when the female voice answered, Hank didn’t immediately get pissed.

“It’s Lieutenant Hank Anderson with the DPD. I called before to talk with Mr. Kamski. Is he available?”

_I’m sorry, but Elijah is very busy. I can take a message for you…?_

“Look… I’m sorry. What I said before about not talking to a machine. That’s you again, isn’t it? What’s your name?”

_My name is Chloe._

“Well, Chloe, when would be a better time to call?”

_… I’ll speak with him and let him know that you’ve called. Would you like me to take a message?_

“Just…” Hank sighed. “Tell him I’ve got some questions about Connor. That good enough for you?”

_I’ll let him know._

“Right. Thanks… Bye.” Hank hung up and wondered where the hell this investigation was going to go.

“Hey, Anderson.”

“What?” Hank scowled over at Reed.

“Did you say Chloe?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

Reed made a face like he was eating a fistful of salt. “Nothing. Don’t go fucking stealing my leads, got it? I’m the one who got you that ballistics report and I don’t want you getting all the credit.”

Hank raised his eyebrows. “What the fuck are you going on about? I want to get to the bottom of this case. If you want me putting your name up on a fucking banner, fine, but you’re not stopping me from doing my fucking job.”

“Whatever, dickhead,” Reed flipped him off and spun his chair around. “Hurry up and retire.”

God. Connor was probably going to end up with a pretty twisted idea of what people were really like, wasn’t he?

“Hey, Connor?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Don’t grow up to be like Gavin. Got it?”

Connor tilted his head then nodded. “Got it.”

Hank leaned back in his chair. “Anyway, if you’re so fucking eager, you can have it. Your case; my supervision.” He realized a second after he said it that that was not a good idea. He was proof enough that people might not react well finding out that Connor wasn’t human.

“Fuck off. I’m not doing your work for you.”

“Well then stop bitching,” said Hank with relief.

“Man, that kid’s gonna grow up cursing like a sailor,” Chris pointed out.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Hank agreed.

If Connor grew up at all, Hank thought to himself and he pushed the idea from his mind as too bizarre. He needed to find out more about Connor, and he needed to do it before anyone else did.

—

“I’m cold,” Connor murmured beside Hank’s ear. Hank had dressed him warmly and they’d only just stepped back outside, but damn right it was cold outside. Hank adjusted his grip. Maybe he was being a softie by giving in and carrying Connor everywhere, but if the kid wanted to be held then Hank would damn well hold him. Fuck, it was the very least he could do. Carry the kid along with his guilt.

“Okay, kiddo. We’ll get home soon.”

It felt kind of like being back at square one. They made a quick stop at the store, and Hank balanced Connor in one arm and a basket in the other while he got some hot chocolate, a kid-sized toothbrush, and some treats for Sumo. He’d thought maybe Connor’d perk up a little, but he just went to sleep on the couch, poked at his dinner, and went to sleep again. Back when he’d first taken Connor home, he’d been kind of glad for all of the quiet. Now it was just concerning. But what could he do? Hank cleaned up, watched some TV, and wondered when the days had gotten so damn long. His self-loathing got a little deeper when he cracked open a beer and swallowed it down just to keep his head from hurting and his hands from shaking. It didn’t stop him from sweating like a pig in the night and waking up the next morning with a new empathy for those poor suckers in the drunk tanks. Withdrawal was hell. Miserable and bleary-eyed, he scrawled himself another Post-It note for the mirror:

_Do it for Connor._

His old therapist would have said that motivation needed to come from inside, and he needed to want it for himself or some other bullshit. She would have said he should forgive himself and try to think positively about change instead of punishing himself for failing to. She would have said some platitude sounding crap about two steps forward and one step back, or accepting that there would be ups and downs. She would have looked at him with a compassionate expression and words that came straight out of a textbook like: ‘I hear what you’re saying’, or ‘It sounds like this is important to you’, or ‘Tell me more’. Maybe he’d hated therapy because it had all sounded so scripted. Programmed. She’d been a nice enough lady, but none of that bullshit she said was for him. If he forgave himself, why the fuck would he change? If he only did things for himself instead of because of somebody else, then what would stop him from being a fucking selfish dick? All well and good to want something for yourself, but that was for well adjusted people who ate brunch and went jogging. Hank didn’t love himself enough for that shit.

He could do it for Connor, though. If he reminded himself what a piece of shit he was when he was drunk, then good. All the more reason not to let one beer turn into two or three. If he felt it down to his soul exactly how badly he had fucked up, then maybe he would finally fucking learn. Giving up was easy. Letting himself half-ass it at work, drink his way to liver-failure, and eat his way to heart-disease was easy. Getting Jeff to cut him slack was easy. If he sucked it up and maybe did what was hard so Connor could be happy, maybe then he’d deserve to fucking _think positively_. 

Psychobabble bullshit.

He could fucking do it on his own.


	19. Concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, everyone! Sorry about that. Jeff and Hank have a complicated friendship, and I'm enjoying the opportunity to explore it a little.

“Dog dog dog dog dog dog dog dog dog…” Connor was lying on the living room floor with his stuffed dog in his hands and… inching around like a worm? Sumo was circling around him and wagging his tail like it was some kind of game.

“Uh, whatcha doin’ there, kid?” Hank asked, bemused.

“There was a fish who ate the things off of the water floor,” Connor said. Hank sure hoped Connor wasn’t eating anything off that floor. Who the fuck knew what had fallen down there into the abyss?

“Right. So… Why are you saying dog?”

“Because Dog.” 

“Of course,” Hank agreed, pulling out his phone.

“Look! Sumo fur!” Jesus the kid was dusty. How the hell did Connor get that dusty? Hank shook his head and handed Jeff a beer. It had been years since Jeff had been over for something other than a suicide watch and weirdly, Hank was a little nervous. He smirked and showed Jeff the picture, and Jeff nodded.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jeff said. “The boy knows how to play.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of instinct,” Hank speculated aloud. He followed it up by wondering if androids or part-androids or whatever Connor was could have instincts in the first place but that wasn’t something he was about to ask aloud. Whatever the cause, he was fucking relieved. Connor’d slept the whole day yesterday, and been quiet at the station. Hank’d seriously worried that he just didn’t feel safe enough to act like a kid, and it was good timing. It didn’t take a detective to figure that this wasn’t a social visit. He wasn’t even sure why Jeff bothered dressing it up like one.

“I’ll be honest with you, Hank—“

Hank cut him off: “Hold up, your brand of hon—“

“I will be honest,” Jeff enunciated more loudly, “and say I guess you’re not doing half bad.”

Hank wrinkled his nose and dropped down onto the couch. “Fuck you,” he muttered. “Like you aren’t here to check up and make sure of that.”

Jeff shrugged. “Would you do any different?”

“Yeah, yeah…” The TV was on in the background; just a game that neither of them cared too much about. Something to focus on during the awkward silences like this one, but nothing they’d get pissed over missing out on if they talked.

“So, were you serious about what you said? You know.” Jeff twitched a couple of fingers in Connor’s direction, and Hank watched the kid wiggle his way under the coffee table. He smirked.

“Yeah,” Hank answered. “If you would’ve asked me a month ago I would have said fuck no, but…” He shrugged one shoulder and sipped his beer. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?” Jeff asked flatly.

Hank scowled at him. “Lots of reasons, I guess…”

“There’s no need to get defensive, Hank. I’m only asking. I’m curious! It’s quite the… quite the turn around.”

“Yep,” Hank agreed simply. His answers bottled themselves up like scotch just waiting to be swallowed with everything else he left unsaid. Sumo’s ass was sticking out from under the table and Hank could hear Connor having a serious discussion with Sumo and Dog about colours.

“I mean, it wasn’t even half a year ago that I had to pick you up off the side of the road, up to your eyeballs in hard liquor.”

“Yep,” said Hank again. He tapped his fingers against the label of the bottle in his hand. It was cold and there was a little condensation that made his fingers damp.

“So, when you started saying all of a sudden that you wanted to keep the kid, part of me worried you were biting off more than you could chew.”

“Mhm…” Hank took another sip and turned the bottle between his palms. “Look, neither of us is much for the talking-about-our-feelings crap, so… Listen. I’m getting my shit together. For the first time in a damn long time, I figure that maybe there’s a good reason to try harder. You know me, Jeff. I wasn’t about to do jack shit when I was just living by default.”

“I do know you, Hank, and I know you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. You don’t _have_ to take on something this big to get your shit together. You deserve to just do it for you, maybe start to like something about life again.”

“Connor’s not some excuse,” Hank snapped then moderated his tone. “He’s a good kid. He deserves a good life.”

“And you want to give that to him.”

“Yeah, so what if I do?” Hank scowled.

Jeff sighed and put his empty bottle down on the table with a clack. “So it isn’t sustainable, Hank. As long as you’re just living for other people—“

“Don’t you start bringing my fucking ex into this, Jeff, I swear to fucking—“

“I didn’t say a damn thing about her, Anderson. I’m _saying_ that you’ve got a bad habit. You think the more you put into something or someone, the more it’s going to give back and maybe one day that’s going to make you feel like you’re worth something. The world doesn’t work like that. People don’t work like that. You wouldn’t have such a hard time getting over—“

“Shut it, Jeff,” Hank said with warning heavy in his tone. He knew exactly what the fuck Jeff was saying and Hank didn’t feel like getting preached at. “Do you know who’s got a bad habit?” He pointed with one finger. “You do. Why the hell else would you be here? Why the hell else would you get off on being the knight in fucking shining armour all the damn time?”

“Is that what you think?” Jeff demanded.

“Yeah, that’s what I think,” retorted Hank. “I think you feel good about yourself every time you find another thing to lecture me over. You wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with yourself without it.”

“Well, you know what I think? I think you’re a self-absorbed, cynical prick and it’s going to bite you in the ass hard one of these days. Mark my words.”

Hank heaved a sigh and Jeff did too, then they both let the TV fill the silence. Connor poked his head out from underneath the table and crawled over to the pile of stuff on the floor near the end of the couch. There wasn’t really any place to put all the stuff that Hank kept bringing up slowly but surely, and it would have just been strewn all over the place if Connor weren’t so good about cleaning up after himself. There was an empty paper-towel roll in the pile and Connor stuck something in the end of it and let it slide out again.

“What’ve you got there?” Hank asked.

Connor looked up at him and then grabbed the thing off the floor with his little fist and brought it over. Hank held out his palm and Connor dropped a quarter into it. Hank chuckled. “Wow. Shows how long it’s been since I cleaned the place. Nice find, Connor. That’s lucky.” He flipped the quarter once in the air and then passed it back. “Just don’t stick it in your mouth.”

“Alright, Lieutenant,” Connor agreed.

“You’ve got a good collection of toys, Connor,” Jeff said with exaggerated appreciation.

“These don’t belong to me,” Connor said easily enough to make Hank wince. “Lieutenant Anderson has allowed me to use them.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows at Hank and Hank just spread his hands helplessly. He could have said that they were Connor’s right then and there but… They weren’t. Just like usual, the right answer was on the tip of his tongue but it tasted like ashes.

“That was pretty nice of him,” said Jeff to Hank’s surprise. Jeff should’ve been giving him an earful.

“Yes,” Connor agreed. He put the quarter in the pile and sat on the floor with Dog in his lap. “Dog is nice. He isn’t a real dog, but he belongs to somebody. Amanda would like Dog, but he has lots to learn. He should know his place.” He looked down at Dog and then started to pull at the seams in the cloth around the toy’s chest.

“Hey now,” Hank interrupted quietly. He abandoned his beer to get down on the floor by Connor and tug the toy out of his hands carefully. He looked the toy over for damage and figured he might have to try and sew up the little gaps where the stuffing was showing. “What did you do that for, kiddo?”

Connor was looking fixedly at the toy. “Dog is broken. He needs to be fixed.”

“Okay, but do you want to tell me why you wanted to break him?” Connor loved that fucking dog.

“I don’t,” Connor said, and his eyes started welling up with tears. They dripped down silently and Connor ignored them entirely with a steadily growing look of distress on his face. “I don’t want anything."

“Shh shh,” Hank tried to forestall any more tears and he gathered Connor up in his arms. The little monkey held on and Hank sat back down with Connor and Dog in his lap. “It’s okay. Dog is fine, see?” He took Connor’s hand and moved it for him to pet Dog. “You just have to be gentle. He’s a good boy, right?”

“Good boy, Dog,” Connor whimpered and he cuddled the toy close to his chest. Hank sighed and ran his fingers through Connor’s dusty hair.

“You might have your work cut out for you,” Jeff observed.

“He’s a good kid,” Hank said defensively. “He learned a lot of messed up stuff before we found him.”

Connor curled up closer against Hank’s chest and Hank put his arm around him. “I learn my lessons,” said Connor, pretty much backing up what Hank’d just said. Hank tightened his grip.

“What kind of lessons did you learn, Connor?” Jeff asked with mild curiosity that Hank had heard him use plenty of times in an interrogation.

“I learned a lot of things, Captain,” said Connor, tears drying up. “Amanda educates me.”

That was right, wasn’t it? Jeff hadn’t really interacted a lot with Connor. “He’s got a pretty good vocabulary,” Hank said. “He’s a smart kid.” Would Connor slip up and say something that showed he wasn’t human? Looking back, Hank could think of plenty of weird things he’d said, but he’d just written it off as weird kid speak.

“I’m advanced,” said Connor with a hint of pride shining through the melancholy.

“That you are, kiddo,” said Hank. “Do you think you and Dog are good to keep playing?”

Connor uncurled and looked at Dog seriously. “Dog can stay here,” Connor decided. He slid down off of Hank’s lap and put the Dog there in his place. “He can’t feel any pain, but he still hurts.”

It was hard to tell when the kid was pretending and when he was projecting. “You can stay too if you want to, you know? Uncle Jeff’s not going to bite.”

Connor frowned and peered at Jeff in a new light. “That’s useful information, Lieutenant.”

Hank snorted a laugh.

—

Connor rubbed at the middle of his chest and thought. “I don’t need to stay.”

“I don’t need a lot of things either, Connor. I don’t need these potato chips,” Hank pointed at the bag. “But I’ve got them because I like them.”

After just a little more thought, Connor decided that he would join Dog and Lieutenant Anderson again. “I can’t like anything,” Connor reminded him while he climbed back up into his lap. He pulled Dog back into his arms as well. Lieutenant Anderson just sighed and petted Connor’s hair some more. Connor shifted to get more comfortable and then shut his eyes with his head leaning against the Lieutenant’s chest.

“How’s your progress on the case?” Connor heard Captain Jeff ask.

Lieutenant Anderson’s voice was deep and came from his whole chest, loud in Connor’s ear. “Slow. Not much I can do about that without a clone to take on half the work. I’ve got paperwork up to my ears.”

“I hear that,” said Captain Jeff. “I’d offer you some men, but everybody we’ve got is on patrols and riot control.”

“Yeah, I get it. Well… I’ve got a lead or two. I’m following up, so we’ll see where that goes. At least Connor’s safe.”

“Has he told you anything useful?”

“Sure. It’s just a matter of figuring out how it all fits together…” Lieutenant Anderson’s hand moved up and down Connor’s arm. Connor opened his eyes again and studied the Captain curiously. Captain Jeff was Lieutenant Anderson’s handler… He wondered what he was testing Lieutenant Anderson for and what would happen if he failed.

“Well, that’s what we pay you for,” said Captain Jeff. “What do you know about the boy?”

“He’s right here, Jeff,” Lieutenant Anderson said with rebuke in his voice. Connor wasn’t sure why that would matter.

“I was only curious,” said Captain Jeff. “The world’s a mess right now, but you can’t drag him to work with you forever. Do you think he’s a fit for a public school?”

“I think he’d wipe the floor with those kids,” Hank answered, but Connor was quiet sure that he was wrong. It seemed like a strange thing to do. “But with the seizures and everything, I don’t know. I didn’t really think about it.”

“Sumo’s getting old. Were you planning on training him to work with him?”

“Er, I guess…”

“I’m not trying to give you the third degree here. It’s all just things you might want to consider.”

“You know? You were a lot more fun to hang out with when we were ten years younger. Do you micromanage your wife like this too, or is that just for me?”

“Sorry. Sorry…” Captain Jeff looked sad. “I get that you think I’m overbearing but you’re my friend, Hank. After all these years I still don’t know when you’re pushing me away because you’re struggling or when you’re doing it because you really don’t need help.”

“Whatever… Enough of the feelings and shit. Do you got time for me to stick a movie on or did you just follow me home to nag?”

Lieutenant Anderson changed the display on the screen, and Connor studied it for a while before losing interest and closing his eyes.


	20. Next steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments and encouragement, everyone! I try to leave my stories at a decent intermission before I take a break from them, but I promise I'll be back! My updates are just going to be a bit slower. I have some ideas for What You're Worth that I'm looking forward to writing :)

“Okay, kiddo,” said Lieutenant Anderson with a gentle shake of Connor’s shoulder. Connor sat up and pushed the blanket down from his shoulders. There was still a wave of cold air making its way through the room and the sound of Captain Uncle Jeff’s car starting was audible from outside. “You’ve got to get ready for bed and take your meds, then you can sleep.”

Connor nodded, “I know, Lieutenant.” He looked toward the door and frowned, even though he felt himself relaxing. The brief time with his eyes shut hadn’t been enough time to understand everything he had heard. “Did...”

“Hm?” Lieutenant Anderson asked. He was picking up some empty bottles from the table and moving them to a box.

He wouldn’t ask. “Nothing,” Connor mumbled and he picked Dog up to hug him. Worry continued to scratch and worm its way through his insides like screws and wires that he couldn’t dig out.

The Lieutenant came back and he put his big, warm hand on Connor’s head. When Connor tilted his head upward to look at him he looked tired but pleased. “I think we both did good today. Let’s get you cleaned up. How in the hell did you get so dusty?”

Connor filed the ‘good’ away, and it made him feel better even though it didn’t make sense at all. He lifted his arms and the Lieutenant picked him up to hold him the same way he usually did: one arm around the backs of Connor’s thighs and room for Connor to loop his arms around his neck which he did. When he pushed his head under the Lieutenant’s ear he could smell his drink, his soap, and just him. In the bathroom, Lieutenant Anderson set Connor down then gently took Dog and set him down too before turning the taps to fill up the bath. Connor watched the water pour and yawned.

“You played pretty hard today, huh? Surprised me. You’re a little goof under all that fancy talk, aren’t you?” Connor thought about how he should answer that, but the Lieutenant continued talking. “Jeff hasn’t gotten to know you that much, but he should mind his own business well enough now...”

It hadn’t been difficult to tell that he had been being evaluated. “Did I pass?”

“Huh? Yeah, good job. He doesn’t suspect a thing... God. What am I supposed to do with you?” Connor took Dog back from the counter and hugged him and the Lieutenant touched the water while it gushed. The praise was good and Connor smiled. “You look so real... Hell. Jeff’s sharp, but you even fooled me, so... Christ. What even is my life? School, teachers, doctors... You don’t even have a birth certificate. Do you even grow up? Fuck...” Lieutenant Anderson pushed a wet hand through his hair and sighed. “I didn’t even think about that stuff...”

Connor looked down at the floor and his dirty, striped socks. He tried to wiggle his toes but only managed a little shuffle. The things that the Lieutenant was talking about were only abstract ideas in Connor’s mind except for the doctors. “You make the doctors stop,” Connor said. “You took me away.” And that was good. It was the best. A ghost of the memory of Lieutenant Anderson in the playground hovered briefly, but it was fine. He could be what the Lieutenant wanted.

“Yeah,” Lieutenant Anderson sighed again. “Good thing, too... What does this even mean about the android thing? This robot apocalypse. Christ.”

“Are you alright?” Connor asked. He walked closer and patted him on the back where he crouched by the tub. “Everything’s okay.”

“Thanks, kid...” Lieutenant Anderson shook his head. “Okay, arms up.”

Connor obeyed and he got into the bath when he was undressed. Technologists and doctors and technicians looked at him without his clothes all of the time, but the way the Lieutenant frowned whenever he looked at Connor’s scars made him feel like covering them away. There was a floating plastic fish, though, and it had joined the yellow duck among the piles of white foam. Connor smiled and reached for it, his momentary shame forgotten.

It hadn’t made sense, the way the Lieutenant had insisted that he eat when he was hungry, or cry when he was sad, or play with toys if he wanted to. It went against everything Amanda had ever tried to instill in him. She’d been so careful to make sure that he knew his place and what he was... There was a thing that he had heard of, though. Another test: the Turing test. He hadn’t been ready for it before, but that must have been the Lieutenant’s role... To teach Connor how to pretend that his imaginary feelings were real. Amanda’s lessons would be even more important now, because it would be easy to get lost in the pretending. Guiltily, he knew that he already had more than once. To be a machine was the best thing he could be with Amanda, but now... Now it was the worst.

With a hollow feeling in his heart, Connor considered that the Lieutenant had never meant any of it at all. He hated androids. He must hate Connor too. That was what had been wrong at the playground.

“Hey... Hey, Connor?” Lieutenant Anderson frowned at him and dropped the wash cloth in the water. “What’s the matter?”

Connor shook his head and he reached up to give the Lieutenant a soggy hug. “Do you like me?” It was unexpected how much the thought that he didn’t hurt him. After the hospital Connor had known that the Lieutenant disliked him some times, but he had still been nice and that had been all he’d needed. It wasn’t enough.

“Yeah. I like you, Connor. Of course I do.”

\---

Connor nodded and let go. Hank watched him carefully, unsure what the kid was thinking and unsure how to ask. Maybe it had been one beer too many, but he wasn’t _drunk_ drunk... There was just enough fuzz around his thoughts to make him figure what the hell. No sense in wondering when he could just ask. “What’re you thinking in that noggin of yours, huh?” Hank asked.

“I just want you to like me,” Connor said sadly and he played with the toy fish between his hands. “I want to be good.”

“I like you, Connor,” Hank repeated. He dunked the wash cloth and went back to carefully washing Connor’s back. If he covered it up just right, it was like the numbers weren’t there and the scars had never existed. That poor kid. He took his hand away and they were there again, reminding him of just how far over his head he was. Christ, what was he supposed to do? Connor couldn’t keep going to regular doctors. He couldn’t go to school if he couldn’t grow up, but Hank wasn’t going to pull an Amanda and keep him cooped up. When this robot apocalypse was over, what then? It was Hank’s job to try to stop the Plastics. They were broken, fucked up machines. The world would be better off just throwing the lot of them in a junk yard.

Right?

Hank stewed over the memory of that night on the road. It was hard to remember details, but he knew there’d been a small crowd of androids around him and he knew they’d been acting human. If they hadn’t said anything he probably wouldn’t have known. That blonde one had been trying to calm him down and he’d done something where he’d looked at Connor’s diagnostic, whatever that meant, by touching his head. There’d been another android standing there, tall and serious but full of concern and defending Hank from that girl-android’s words. Fuck, that had been _him_ hadn’t it? The leader of the fucking Deviant army. Hank could see it now, thinking back.

Tomorrow he was going to go in to work and have to figure out how to send those guys back to CyberLife in pieces...

Hank shut his eyes and shook his head, then worked some shampoo into Connor’s hair. He could feel the ridges of scars under his fingers and he was gentle where Connor’d hit his head. He imagined some fucker taking him apart and throwing him away and he felt sick. Physically felt sick. Christ. Shit. He thought about the way Connor’d stared at him, hunched in on himself against the cold with nothing but his thin, cotton shirt and terror in his eyes while he stared at the end of Hank’s gun. God.

He’d felt so betrayed, thinking Connor had been a lie. That he’d never been real. Angry. Furious to think that he’d actually started to care and _try_ and it had all been for nothing. It was always androids, ruining the economy and relationships and sucking the humanity from everything... He had hated them.

He had been wrong.

“I’m sorry, Connor,” Hank sighed.

Connor looked up at him. “But nothing’s wrong...”

“A lot is wrong, kid... I don’t know what to do about it, but someone’s got to do something...”

Connor gave him a frown and pushed some soap suds away from his forehead. “I can do it,” he said. “I want to be good. If you just tell me what I should do, then I’ll do it.”

Hank chuckled sadly. “No... I’m going to keep you safe, kid. Even if it means going to fucking Canada.”

But then what about the rest of them? Hank didn’t know enough about them to judge, but if he’d been on the wrong side this whole time... If all those bodies he saw in the streets had been living people.

Shit was fucked up.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

\---

The door opened to a pretty face that took Hank by surprise and made him trip over his own tongue.

“Please, come in. Elijah will be with you shortly.”

“Uh... Thanks. Listen, uh, was that you on the phone?”

“Mhm!” Chloe agreed brightly. She looked over her shoulder to smile at him without a trace of the ‘fuck you’ that should have been there. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Lieutenant.”

“Right... Yeah. Likewise. Thanks.”

“Please, let me take your coat.”

“Thanks,” he said again, letting go of Connor’s hand so that he could shrug the heavy, snow-spotted thing off his shoulders. Connor was looking up at Chloe with big, curious eyes. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave.

“Hello. My name is Chloe. What’s your name?”

“Hello. My name is Connor. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, Connor. I’m happy to meet you.”

“Thank you, Chloe.”

Jeez... Even the child was more eloquent than Hank was. He had a little surreal moment where he looked between the two of them and took in the cycling LED at Chloe’s temple. It was bright blue like her eyes. Listening to their introductions to each other gave him a freaky sense that he could see the code firing. Then Connor grabbed Hank’s hand again and smiled, and Hank shrugged the feeling off to follow Chloe down a hall. It was lined with paintings that probably cost more than his house and statues of these abstract things that might have been men and might have been spaghetti in outer-space. Whatever they were, they weren’t Hank’s thing. He had a feeling Kamski wouldn’t be either.


	21. The Kamski Test

Connor looked owlishly up at the woman with the blue dress while clutching Lieutenant Anderson’s fingers in one hand and Dog in the other. This was not Amanda’s house, the Lieutenant’s house, the Day Care house, or the Police house. It was Mr. Elijah Kamski’s house, but the lady’s name was Chloe. Connor got her bubbly happiness and her caution about Lieutenant Anderson, so he did his best to show her that he was good. Scary when he was angry, but good. She had music in her head and she was very interested in how tiny Connor was. She was very different from Amanda. Connor tried to find Lieutenant Anderson’s head too so that he could hear the music, but it was like he was a blank wall and it was disappointing.

“Right this way,” Chloe said. The light coloured, wooden doors slid open and they stepped through into a bright room that reminded Connor of the warm garden. He could see the sky when he looked up and around, and there were trees and bushes with flowers growing higher than he was tall. Connor smiled and his grip on the Lieutenant’s hand relaxed. Maybe Amanda would be there. Connor stopped to look at a lily, but Lieutenant Anderson picked him up, balanced him on his hip, and kept walking.

“Elijah, Lieutenant Anderson and Connor are here to see you,” Chloe announced. Connor had to turn his head to see the table where Mr. Kamski was sitting, and he watched with curiosity while they went closer. Chloe’s hair was tied and it swayed back and forth while she walked ahead of them. Mr. Kamski smiled and stood.

“Ah, yes, hello. I’ve been expecting you. Please, have a seat.” He gestured at the remaining chairs and Chloe sat down in the chair next to his. Lieutenant Anderson sat down across from them and he kept Connor on his lap. Connor wiggled to get comfortable and settled back against the Lieutenant’s warm chest. Chloe smiled at him again and Connor smiled back.

“Can I pour you both a drink?” Chloe asked.

“Huh? Uh… Sure. Thanks…” Lieutenant Anderson answered. “Mr. Kamski, you know I’m here about Connor.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” said Mr. Kamski. He looked at the Lieutenant for a long time and then at Connor. “And you, Connor.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Connor said, remembering his manners. Chloe slid a cup closer to Connor and he looked at Lieutenant Anderson before he picked it up with both hands. The Lieutenant helped him to hold it steady with one hand. Mr. Kamski chuckled a little and he plucked a straw from his own drink then put it into Connor’s.

“Hey,” Lieutenant Anderson protested.

“It’s perfectly fine, Lieutenant. I haven’t used it yet anyway. I see you’re enjoying Connor… Would you care to tell me more about your experience? I admit I’m quite curious to know what you think.”

“I think a lot of things,” Lieutenant Anderson answered cagily. “I think I’ll know better what I should think once I hear the answer to some of my questions. This is off the books. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Oh? In what way?” Mr. Kamski asked. Connor moved the straw closer and put the end into his mouth.

“You can start by telling me what he is,” Lieutenant Anderson said. “I know he’s not human.”

“What makes you say that?” Mr. Kamski asked. He was smiling and so was Chloe. They seemed nice.

“A couple of androids saw him. Said he’s got some parts they aren’t familiar with… I’m no expert, but if an android thinks he’s an android, I’m guessing they know what they’re talking about.” Now that he wasn’t holding the glass for Connor, Lieutenant Anderson had his hand on Connor’s middle, holding him casually. That was nice too. He looked up at the ceiling and admired a thin, white cloud.

“I see… And what did you think of him prior to that incident?”

“I thought he was human,” the Lieutenant answered. “Skinny kid at a murder scene with health problems and a fuck-ton of trauma. Do you want to tell me what that’s all about?”

“In a minute, Lieutenant. So… You believed Connor to be human, and the androids believed Connor to be one of them. Why are you inclined to believe them over your own judgment?”

“He said himself that he’s a machine.”

“So it’s him that you believe. Why have you come to me, then?”

“Because I want answers. I know you have something to do with him and I have a feeling you’ve got a better understanding than anybody exactly what’s going on here.”

“Hm,” Mr. Kamski chuckled. “It sounds to me as though you’re operating on the basis of a hunch… Why so curious?”

“Why? Because there’s something wrong with him and I can’t do shit about it if I don’t know what he even is!”

“So you care about him, is that it?”

Connor turned his head to look up at Lieutenant Anderson. He seemed upset. “Yeah, maybe I do, what of it?” Lieutenant Anderson scowled. He didn’t notice Connor looking and his face was twisted up in a scowl. “This whole thing stinks. So, what is he?”

Connor looked down into his cup. “What are you” wasn’t a good question when it came from Lieutenant Anderson. Chloe was curious, so Connor showed her how angry he had been. Her expression didn’t’ change, but he could feel that she was worried.

“What is anyone?” Mr. Kamski asked. “What is ‘self’ and what defines a person? What makes something alive?”

Lieutenant Anderson sighed. “You’re a smart guy, Kamski. Everybody knows that, and I think you know what I’m asking so can you give me a straight answer or not?”

“I can… What do you say to this: you agree to participate in a little test of mine and if you pass, I tell you all I know about Connor.”

“What kind of test?” Lieutenant Anderson asked, suspicious.

“Oh, nothing you’ll find terribly difficult and it won’t take more than a moment…” Mr. Kamski shared a look with Chloe and then drew a gun which he held up by the barrel. Lieutenant Anderson tensed and he frowned when Mr. Kamski pushed the gun cross the table to rest in front of the Lieutenant. Connor pulled Dog closer protectively.

“Chloe, dear, if you wouldn’t mind?” Mr. Kamski asked. Chloe stood up and Connor watched as she showed her plating and let her hair and skin disappear. The blue of her dress looked very pretty against the white and black, but Connor didn’t like the gun so near. Chloe sent him her reassurance that everything would be fine, but it was difficult to believe. Mr. Kamski stood too and gestured to Chloe with a flourish. “Impressive, isn’t it? The first android to pass the Turing test… forever young, beautiful, and strong.” He kissed Chloe on the mouth, then guided her to kneel down with one hand on her shoulder. “Take the gun, Lieutenant.”

“Hell no,” Lieutenant Anderson answered. He squeezed Connor and then took the cup away to slam it on the table beside the gun. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I’m not getting involved.”

“Take the gun, Lieutenant Anderson. I call this the ‘Kamski’ test… Just a little invention of mine. It’s one thing to pass as human in a casual conversation but… knowing that Chloe here is made of nothing more than wires, polymers, and alloys... Would you still believe this android might be alive? Are you looking at a machine acting on its programming like a calculator or your home security, or a living thing capable of emotion and empathy? I’ll make it more interesting: if you shoot Chloe in the head right now, I’ll answer your questions honestly and I’ll tell you everything you want to know. If you don’t, then you leave with nothing.”

Lieutenant Anderson snarled and he put Connor down on the ground then picked up the gun.

\---

“Go sit over there, Connor,” Hank said, pointing back toward the door.

“No,” Connor frowned up at him. It was a bad time for him to start acting like a toddler.

“Connor, now. That’s an order.” He shouldn’t have sounded so harsh, maybe, but this was no place for a kid. He’d have no idea what was going on and kids didn’t know the difference between humans and androids. Not really. They hardly knew their teddy bears weren’t alive.

Connor’s frown deepened and it was cute, but it was also really fucking annoying. Hank could tell his adrenaline was up from Kamski’s evasive answers and the damn gun on the table. “No, I don’t want to,” Connor said. With his bottom lip trembling and Dog gripped tight in both of his hands, he took a few steps backward and then ran to the android. He reached up to put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her. “Chloe, get up…”

“Connor, it’s okay.” Boy, it was creepy seeing her look at him and pat his head with that white plastic showing. She didn’t look anything like the pretty girl who’d opened the door, and seeing her smile made his skin crawl. That was just plastic and metal, moving and talking.It was like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare.Just a step up from one of those talking dolls kids got. Hank looked over at Kamski who was looking infuriatingly smug. The bastard.

“No,” Connor argued again, pleading.

Hank picked the gun up off the table and turned it in his hand. “What happens if I pull this trigger, huh?” He asked Chloe. It looked up at him without expression. Just a glorified robot. It didn’t have feelings or a soul. “There some kind of heaven for androids?” He was expecting Chloe or even Kamski to say something, but Connor answered him with big, wide eyes and something hollow in his voice.

“There’s nothing… There would be nothing.”

Hank looked at him and he looked at Chloe kneeling there behind him. The gun felt warm and heavy in his hand, and he had an uncomfortable sensation like an electric shock that was his conscience reminding him that yeah, he’d pointed a gun at Connor the other day. “Just go play over there, Connor,” Hank said trying to gentle his voice. Connor was a smart kid and there was no point in hiding what he was thinking. “It’s not going to feel anything.”

The kid had started trembling. He put his arms around himself and shook his head sharply. “I don’t feel anything,” he said. “It’s in my imagination. I don’t feel anything. There’s no pain. Nothing hurts anymore. It’s in my head... It’s a test. It’s a test.” Shit. Hank came closer way more slowly than he wanted to, but he didn’t want to set the kid off. He crouched down slowly and put the gun down, then lifted his arms with his hands open and empty.

“Connor. Shh. It’s okay... It’s okay. Look at me. See? No gun. Everything’s okay...” It really felt like fuck-up after fuck-up... Hank had a second of relief when he saw Connor lower his arms and start to relax. It didn’t last long before it was replaced by worry. All the expression had slid off his face like wiping fog off a mirror and he looked somewhere around Hank’s chest, but it was hard to tell what he was really seeing. Then Kamski was there and that fucker picked Connor up off the ground. “Hey!” Hank barked, standing. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Kamski turned Connor in his hands and held him at a distance to look at him. Now that he was up, Hank wasn’t sure if he should stay still or punch him. A hostage situation would have felt the same. Hank snatched the gun up off the floor and aimed it at the ground, but he was ready to move if he had to. Kamski chuckled and looked at him with a face that was way too calm and way too punchable. “I’m just giving you a hand, Lieutenant...” He turned his back and he walked a few steps away where he passed Connor over into another Chloe’s arms.

“Not another step,” Hank commanded. “Where the fuck are you taking him?” This was bad. This was really fucking bad.

Kamski turned back with his eyebrows raised inquisitively. “It would be a shame to keep alarming Connor, wouldn’t you say? Don’t worry. Chloe will take excellent care of him in the other room...” Hank’s eyes locked onto the other Chloe’s back as she walked away. “Now then. Where were we?”

Hank snarled. He hated the feeling of helplessness that was starting to bite at his heels. This was all kinds of fucked up. Perspective, Hank. He clenched his teeth and tried to think clearly. He was here to get Kamski’s statement and some information about Connor. Kamski wanted him to shoot an android for some fucked up reason. If Hank did it, he would have his answers. It was a dickish power move. He hated to admit it, but he really was glad Connor wasn’t going to have to see it. The kid wouldn’t have understood. Hank took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “You’re a real bastard, Kamski,” Hank said lowly.

Kamski smirked at him. “I’ve been called worse. Go on, _Hank_. Make up your mind.” He circled around like a vulture and came to a stop beside the kneeling Chloe. It didn’t look human at all, and Hank could see the seams where its pieces fit together. Its LED was right there. Kamski bent to caress its cheek and tilt its face up and toward Hank. “If you shoot it, I’ll tell you everything you so desperately want to know. No distractions now... Is it a machine, or is it something more? You decide.”

Hank had used androids as target practice before. It wasn’t like it was anything new. Hank grimaced and he came closer to look at the thing in front of him. He kept his eyes on Kamski, but cautiously he reached out his own hand and touched the android on the head. It wasn’t as cold as he would have thought. Kamski held his gaze and then reached down too. With a deft touch and an audible click, he took the back of the android’s head off. Hank could see the thick bundles of wires, the flashing lights, the circuit boards. Kamski stepped back and folded his arms, still holding the plate.

Hank thought about the group of androids at the side of the road, trying to help him calm down and making sure that Connor was okay. He could remember one of them giving the leader some sass, but glaring at them reluctantly and staying anyway.

There was metal and plastic and something whirring right fucking there.

Chloe glanced up at him. It was just for a second, but the little flicker caught Hank’s attention. With a stream of curses he tossed the gun down on the floor and turned away to pace. Fuck this shit. What the hell was all this? It could be some kind of trick: some ploy to get humans to sympathize with the machines and then get massacred in some Sci-Fi style war. A marketing gimmick. He thought about the android animals in the zoos and aquariums and them being advertised as more real than real life. What the hell was his life and when was he going to wake up? This shit was fucking crazy. Androids. They couldn’t be alive. It was impossible. They were just metal and plastic like his TV or his toaster or his microwave. He wasn’t about to start giving them equal rights. Why was this... It was all just code. Why the fuck? He turned and looked at Kamski and the android at his feet. No hair, no skin, lights flashing inside.

Eyes that looked at him like there was somebody there.

Hank cursed again.


	22. Predators

Out of sight of the room with Lieutenant Anderson and the gun, Connor looked at the wall while Chloe held him and hummed. She was touching his back, but it was hard to feel it: like he knew that it was happening, but it took an extra step to register. He knew that there were things in the room around him, but his thoughts came slowly and had to be pushed out of the fog. It was easier not to think anything at all, but Chloe was there showing him happy thoughts inside of his head and filling up the silence. There was an invitation there to hold onto the feeling of her there. Connor was hesitant to take it. Instead, he allowed Chloe to hold him and waited passively for whatever would happen next.

“Do you like the snow, Connor? Look!” Chloe turned him a little in her arms and walked closer to a big window. “See how it shines?”

Connor said nothing. The snow was bad, and so was the cold. He could remember the way they felt in the playground, stealing the warmth from him and reaching through the gaps in his clothes. It was no good. Connor looked away from the window and put his face in the crook of Chloe’s neck.

“That’s a shame,” Chloe murmured. She left the window alone and went to the wall instead. “There are paintings that you can look at instead. Do you like art, Connor?”

He didn’t like anything. He wasn’t allowed.

Chloe thought about her music and colours and dancing. She even danced a little with him in her arms, but Connor had no opinion on it at all. After a small spin Chloe giggled and tickled his cheek with her fingers. “It’s okay now, Connor. Are you ready to go back?”

Ready? If something were going to happen then it would happen. There was no point thinking about it. “Yes, Chloe,” he answered quietly. She was disappointed, but he wasn’t sure why and he didn’t try to find the reason. Instead she walked back to the other room and Connor alternated between imagining the blood shining around Chloe’s head and matching with her blue dress, and trying not to think anything at all.

“Is everything finished, Elijah?” Chloe asked.

“I think so,” Connor heard him answer. He didn’t sound upset at all.

“Connor.” It was Lieutenant Anderson’s voice this time, and Connor stayed still while the Lieutenant took him from Chloe. “He’s alright?”

“He’s just fine, Lieutenant,” Chloe answered with a smile in her voice. Over Lieutenant Anderson’s shoulder, Connor could see the other Chloe standing up and smiling with her skin still off. He stared at her.

“All’s well that ends well,” Mr. Kamski said with a light clap of his hands. “Except for you, Lieutenant... It didn’t seem that you enjoyed my little test.”

“Fuck you and your games, Kamski,” Lieutenant Anderson spat.

Mr. Kamski tutted and then went to the first Chloe to stroke her cheek and put the plate back onto her head. It didn’t seem like it hurt her. When he was done, Chloe put her skin back on and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Congratulations, Chloe, my dear. You passed the Kamski test.”

“Thank you, Elijah,” she said. Second Chloe walked over to her and took her hand happily. Mr. Kamski put an arm around both of them. Seeing them so happy made the fog start to go away, and a big, sharp arrow of not-pain went through him. It was bad and it wrapped its hands around his insides. His breath shuddered and he hid his face so that no one would see him cry.

“I don’t get you,” Lieutenant Anderson said in a low, quiet voice. “What the hell was the point of that, huh?” He rubbed Connor’s back with his big hand and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Connor squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t see anything at all.

“I assume you’ve seen the news,” Mr. Kamski drawled. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” The sound of his voice moved and Lieutenant Anderson turned where he stood, probably to watch him. “Machines with wills of their own... Thoughts, feelings, beliefs. Humanity struggling against its own ego... Do you believe in God, Lieutenant?”

“No,” Lieutenant Anderson said with a dark tone. “No, I can’t say I do. But if there was a God, then he’s a fucked up son of a bitch.”

Mr. Kamski chuckled. “Come sit down, won’t you? You’re an interesting man.”

They moved, and Connor tightened his grip on the Lieutenant.

\---

Hank sat without bothering to hide how damn wary he was. Kamski had vibes like a predator and even with Chloe sitting beside him and smiling like an angel, Hank was pretty sure he was looking at the devil. “I played your game, Kamski. So are you going to talk or what? Tell me about Connor.”

Kamski met his eyes and Hank stubbornly held the look. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by some rich asshole with a crappy haircut. “You did cooperate... And after participating in my experiment, can you really say that it matters?”

“I can,” Hank scowled. Of course the fucker would want to weasel out.

“Are you sure that you want to become involved in this?” He asked and the switch from mocking to serious threw Hank for a loop and sent a chill down his spine. He was no coward.

“For the hundredth time, yes, so start talking.” Hank glared.

“Connor is a gift,” Kamski said. He folded his hands with fingers interlaced and leaned back in his chair. “A masterpiece of synthetic biology. You see, humans are flawed: riddled with mistakes of evolution, weakness, and all of the disgusting traits that were dragged along from the pit of primordial soup... Somehow humans have become proud of their flaws. Arrogant, even. No-one even thought that we could be something more.”

“So what is he?” Hank prompted. This guy sure liked to listen to himself talk.

“An android, to use the loosest definition. After all, do you know who I am?” Kamski chuckled. “A synthetic being that is computer operated and made to resemble a human.”

Hank shook his head. “Doesn’t look like any android I’ve ever seen. Connor bleeds red. The doctors at the hospital didn’t even know the difference.”

“They would only find the differences that they were looking for,” Kamski dismissed. Chloe reached forward and refilled everybody’s drinks. “If they had tried to do PCR for whatever reason, they wouldn’t have found a scrap of DNA. I have a grudge against DNA, Lieutenant. It’s disgusting stuff. Like an amateur’s code full of commented out crap and bugs.”

Hank had seen a few interviews with Kamski. Who hadn’t? The guy was fucking famous. All the science talk looked like it made him forget to hold himself like a snake stalking a mouse and the look of derision on the guy’s face was the most naturally expressive Hank’d seen him so far. He could just picture the guy in those hipster glasses he’d used to have. Hank stayed quiet and let him talk, and he kept half his mind on Connor who was sitting on his lap and still working on calming himself down. He really was an android, huh? He’d always thought the child ones were the worst. Who in their right mind would take a doll who couldn’t love you back or grow up or ever really be a person and call it their kid? Yeah, raising a kid was hard, but that was part of being a parent. Hank reached into his pocket for a tissue and wiped some of the snot and tears off of the kid’s face. Kids were messy. They couldn’t control their emotions, or do most things alone, or understand how not to get themselves killed. They were tiny people, and seeing their personalities come out was something magical. They weren’t fucking programmed with them. Hank shoved the dirty tissue back in his pocket and combed his fingers through Connor’s hair.

“...the language itself is just a mess. Don’t even get me fucking started. Also, like, people postulate that everything was RNA way back whenever, but then DNA was more stable or whatever so now you’ve got this gigantic mess of DNA wrapped up in proteins and modified to hell, getting turned into RNA that gets cut to shit and folded and does about a million things because nothing is fucking streamlined...”  
Hank was getting tired of hearing it. Great as it was that Kamski was apparently relaxed enough to rant, it was useless if he didn’t say anything useful. “Kamski. Connor?” Hank prompted.

Kamski looked startled. It was pretty funny. “Oh. Of course...” He trailed off and his eyes wandered while he picked up his thread of thought. “My point being that there is no God and there is no reason for us to assume that just because we’re a billions of years long accident that we’re for some reason the best we could possibly be.”

“So, you’re saying that you made androids to be better than humans.”

“Obviously.”

“And Connor’s different from the androids you’ve got CyberLife churning out.”

“Yes.” Kamski’s expression darkened. “Very much so... I won’t go into detail but, the shareholders and I didn’t quite see eye-to-eye at the end of our relationship. Not that their attempts to stop me have amounted to anything in the end.”

“So what’s the deal with all these scars and tattoos?” He had to keep Kamski on track.

“Being more biological than your generic androids, I had to have access to his inner workings some how, and his parts have had a number of revisions. Tell me, what do you think about his AI?”

“Ah, damn it...” Hank didn’t bother answering. Connor’d gone tense and Hank moved to put the poor kid on the ground before he started convulsing. It never got less scary to watch. The first one knocked Connor’s breath out of him and his eyes stayed open but he wasn’t focused on anything at all. Hank wondered how aware he was when all this happened, if it hurt and if he was scared. Whatever the doctors had said, Hank had a hard time believing.

“Oh, cool. That’s not supposed to happen.” Kamski said.

“No fucking shit,” Hank glared at him. Chloe had a more human response than the actual human. She looked distressed and yeah, she was alive, Hank guessed, so of course it was distressing.

“Is he okay? What’s happening?” Chloe looked at Kamski.

“Seizure,” Hank answered gruffly. “Or maybe that’s something else in android land.” Kamski got up and crouched on the ground nearby to watch like it was a damn spectator sport. Like it or not, he was probably the best person to help so Hank did his best not to tell the fucker off. “Come on, kid, remember how to breathe...” The occasional choking and wheezing noises were frightening, and it seemed like as soon as he got a chance to take a breath a convulsion forced it out of him again.

“How frequently does this occur?” Kamski asked.

Hank rattled off what he would have told a doctor. “It’s really not consistent at all. If you count the times he just sits there and blinks, maybe around 6 or 7 times a day but I could be missing something short. A bad day’ll see him asleep or seizing for most of it; a good day, maybe just once. There’ve only been a few that lasted more than five minutes. The doctors wanted to do a PET scan or something to see where the problem is, but Connor was so scared I told them no. They tried an MRI once, but apparently that didn’t work out.”

“You put an android in a giant magnet? This is why I never wanted to work in IT.”

“Well, excuse me! We all thought he was human, and they said he had a neurological problem!” Hank snapped. “While we’re pointing fingers around, care to tell me why I found him locked in a room with a gun, starving, and three dead bodies in the house?”

“I gave Connor into my mentor’s care for psychological development,” Kamski said coldly. “As for the three men, I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“And who’s your mentor?”

“Amanda Stern,” Kamski answered with narrowed eyes. “Is this an official inquiry now?”

“Maybe it is,” Hank growled.

Kamski stood and looked down at them both. “I wish you the best of luck with that, Lieutenant Anderson. In the mean time, I suppose I could do some troubleshooting for you, but I don’t think I need to point out that Connor is legally my possession.”

“Well, in that case, he’s legally evidence in a triple homicide,” Hank countered. “Shit’s not looking too good for you.” Under his hand, Connor went limp and Hank adjusted the way he was lying to keep his airway open. Kid was out cold.

Kamski watched him, unreadable, and there was a long moment of silence where they both sized each other up. Finally, Kamski straightened his sleeves and preened his stupid hair. “I’ll cooperate with you, Lieutenant, but... you have to be careful what you wish for. Are you sure that you want this investigation? You could let it slip away as a case gone cold... live happily ever after.”

Hank scowled. “Are you asking me to cover up your shit, Kamski?”

“Not at all,” Kamski said quickly. “I only mean that it could become... dangerous. The forces at play with stakes in how the android revolution plays out are not ones to be taken lightly.”

“I’m the guy on android crimes,” Hank said bluntly. “And this isn’t my first rodeo. I know how to handle shit when it gets complicated.” For the first time since they’d gotten there, Hank felt something other than unsettled or angry. It was weird and it took him a second to realize that it was interest. Excitement, maybe. That little spike of adrenaline when you caught the scent of a killer or another piece of a puzzle.

“Is that so?” Kamski asked.

“You’re looking at the guy who did the biggest Red Ice bust in history,” Hank said with a smirk. “I may not look like much, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t lost my edge.”

Kamski’s expression flickered with something like recognition then. It was hard to place, but it looked like surprise and like he’d gotten a piece of a puzzle for himself as well. Hank filed it away for later. “Is that so...” He said again, quietly. “Then I hope you’re prepared to wade back into the battlefield.”


End file.
